


Once upon a time

by elf_on_the_shelf



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: And by That I Mean Glacial, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aspiring Writer Crowley, Awesome Dagon, Aziraphale is Rich and Famous, BAMF Beelzebub, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Complete Disaster on Two Feet Crowley, Crowley Not so Much as in At All, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Getting Together, Grand Romantic Gestures, Happily Ever After, Human AU, I had to go there, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Is this Fic Secretely a Forest in Norway, It’s a Story About a Story, Knight in a Shining Armor Aziraphale, Less so with Feelings, Love Confessions, M/M, Multi, Not That He Even Knows How to Use Those to Begin With, She/Her Pronouns for Dagon (Good Omens), Slow Burn, Storyteller Crowley, Strangers to Lovers, The Pining Oh Lord the Pining, They are switches all day every day in this fic here, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), Wanker Gabriel, Who Knew Leaving Reviews on the Internet Could Lead to Meeting the Love of Your Life, Writer Aziraphale (Good Omens), what
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:21:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 125,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25619551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elf_on_the_shelf/pseuds/elf_on_the_shelf
Summary: ‘Hello, my dear.’Crowley bit his lip for a couple of seconds before he took a deep breath and just went with it.‘Would you like to go for a coffee sometime?’There was silence at the other end.Oh shit.‘That was my friend messing around with my phone…?’‘You do realise that only works over text.’‘Myeah.’Why was he like this?He had wanted to kill Bea for doing the same thing and yet here he was, doing the thing. At Bea’s behest, mind you.‘I would love to go for coffee. Oh, and cake!’Aziraphale is a very rich and successful writer. Crowley is at the worst possible moment of his life - living off Bee's couch and posting his mum's fairy tales on some random sites only to be ignored by everyone except one random person simply called A.This is a story about how both of our main protagonists get over the ghosts of their pasts, learn to work together and maybe - just maybe - fall in love in the process.Not to mention that all of the characters that we love (hate - looking at you, Gabe) make an appearance.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Dagon (Good Omens), Gabriel/his own reflection (Good Omens)
Comments: 741
Kudos: 287
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs





	1. ...in a kingdom far far away...

**Author's Note:**

> Updates every Thursday. (more or less by this point :)) )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of our main characters is being introduced. And so are their ragtag friends.
> 
> CW: past child poor treatment in foster care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose) \- you are the best person out there! And the best beta.

The alarm clock on the coffee table started wailing like there was no tomorrow much to the chagrin of the small flat’s current occupant who was resting on the uncomfortable pull-out couch. Although the words “dead to the world” would have been slightly more aptly used to describe his whole situation at that particular moment.

He allowed himself to stretch for a minute and to groan loudly as he came to. His back was certainly not what it had been - _not that he thought it had been all that perfect to begin with_ \- he pondered as he extended a long and spindly arm to knock the dratted device over, or smash it to bits or possibly send it to the deepest, darkest pits of Hell if only to make it shut up once and for all.

Not that the sounds that started being noticeable once the torture device had been rendered silent were any better.

There was traffic, there always was, the only two small windows of the flat being at ground level if not even a bit under the pavement. And there were a lot of drunken groups ambling about like they tended to do in the early hours of the morning and especially on a Friday night. There was that ghastly man from upstairs yelling something about witches at his faintly buzzing TV set. And, last but not least, that sodded dripping tap in the lousy excuse for a bathroom the flat had1.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

He had tried fixing it countless times. And then Bea had promised that they’d take care of it but never did. If there was someone that managed to sleep like a log through all of the noise even more so than him, then that was Bea.

 _Talk of the devil_ , he mentally swore as someone kicked the side of the couch.

‘Come on, get up you lazy knob. I’m not paying you to sleep all day.’

‘You’re not paying me at all.’

‘Room and board then. And you get to keep your tips. Now move your lazy arse outta here, Dagon is coming by tonight.'

‘What? I thought it was your shift on Friday.’

‘It was. But, like I said, Dagon. And I’m the boss. So up you go.’

‘Beeee -’

‘Don’t you Bee me, you know you can’t appeal to my more delicate sensibilities since I don’t have any.’

They could hear the sound of a key turning in the lock and then the door opened with a loud screech.

‘Are you in?’

‘Right here, babes,’ Bea winked at him and gave the couch another kick.

‘No need to be all violent-like. I’m going,’ the occupant of the couch got up on unsteady feet and tried to make his way to the so-called bathroom.

Dagon grunted as she took off her high-heeled boots and threw them randomly in the middle of the hallway.

‘Oh, is the waste of space still here?’ she called out as soon as she entered the living room and set eyes on him.

He turned towards her with a raised eyebrow and fought the immediate urge to look for his sunglasses.

He could count the people that had seen him without them on one hand. Or at least in recent years. They hadn’t been as accommodating to his preferences all of those years ago when he had been in care. Bea had always been one of them, ever since they had met when he was fourteen. And they had a strong “no sunglasses around the flat” policy since, apparently, they “made him look like a tosser”. So that meant that Dagon too got to see him without them since, well, this was Bea’s flat and whatever they decreed was law. And Dagon was their partner. At least she had the good grace not to comment on them. Not that Dagon had a lot of good grace in general, but he really appreciated that. Bea was probably responsible for it but he could take his blessings where he could get them. It wasn’t like life had offered him many of those so far.

‘Well, har har. I’ll be out of your hair in five.’

‘You’d better be since you know what else should be out of my hair? All of this glitter. And I doubt I could share that pathetic excuse for a shower space without getting really intimate with you while you get ready for your shift. And I have to tell you that I was rather planning on getting intimate with Pix over here, Crowley.’

Of all the people in the entire world, Crowley doubted that Bea would let anyone else call them “pixie” and not break their legs or set fire to their house. But they let Dagon have it, much like they let Dagon do anything she pleased.

It was not the most traditional relationship out there, but, considering his warped perception of how relationships were supposed to function, it was the most loving and fun one he had encountered so far.

Not that he had a lot of experience with what constituted a healthy and normal relationship. Not ever since the accident. Not ever since his mother. Being paraded through a dozen foster homes and being cast away from this family and then the next as no one seemed to want him, always.

The only kindred spirit had been Bea, from the very beginning. _Well, not quite_. The first two years had been the hardest. He was alone. So _so_ alone. There had been five families just in those two short years. None of them could be bothered with taking care of him.

_Why had they even volunteered to be foster parents anyway? Or maybe it had been his fault entirely, to begin with._

He had believed it at the time. And that was why he had taken the best beating of his life from a figure one foot shorter and two years younger than him. That beating had consisted of two whole punches before he managed to grab their hands and got a smile in return. _“Good. Fight back. Don’t let them break you. You’re better than that, you wuss”_ , was directed at him with a smile and a glint in their eye from a scrawny twelve-year-old. The next four years were far better since, every time he invariably got sent back to the orphanage, he would meet them there and they would have his back.

Bea had done their absolute darnest to make any couple wanting to foster them absolutely run away with their tails between their legs, but Crowley kept trying, time and time again, hoping for a happy family. A home of sorts. An ending that wasn’t just broken hearts and tears.

There were loads of those all the time and maybe that’s why no one ever wanted him to stay for long.

He could never hide them even if he tried his hardest. That’s why the glasses were always a powerful armour.

He cried when he saw vintage cars and he cried when he heard fantasy stories on tape and he especially cried when people tried tucking him in and placing a kiss on his forehead.

Someone once told him to _“lose the pretence now that he was out of the dead-parents’ kids club”_. In those precise words. Bea had sworn to set fire to their front door and it took some time to persuade them not to do it. But he never could do that precise thing. He would never openly sob but his eyes always did get moist when he thought of those things and apparently no one liked that.

Bea was always more of a hard-love type of person. They had witnessed their parents die in a fire and they had coped with it. Somehow. Far better than Crowley ever could.

Everything about them was rough and blunt and, a little bit violent, to be honest. But that was just what Crowley needed.

Whenever other people would lean in with fake pity on their faces and caress his shoulder asking him if he missed _“mummy dearest”_ at first only to tell him to _“man the fuck up”_ only a month later, Bea was always blunt but completely on his side. They were his rock. They never tried to lure him in with sweet fake nothings only to realise that he was being too much and want to get rid of him as soon as possible the minute they realised he was broken beyond repair.

Bea preferred to give him a hearty punch and toss a _“you wanker”_ his way because they knew he responded better to that than to affection that was casually thrown at him this moment only to be taken away the next. At least they were consistent with that. And it wasn’t as if he had that much consistency in his life.

It didn’t help that he he misconstrued Bea’s particular brand of tough love to just people being rough. That was what had made him make a lot of mistakes in his younger years.

There was the alcohol and the tattoos and then the occasional recreational drugs and later, the petty crimes. The lot down at the orphanage was not best equipped to be thrown out into the world.

All except Bea. They took the little money that they got out of their first two petty robberies and rented a flat. It was not this flat. It was far, _far_ shittier than this flat. _If that was even possible to begin with._ But they had braved it out and they took three jobs at a time sometimes. They had worked as a barkeep, a mechanic, a valet – until they told a snobby busy-body to shove it, a billboard boy – they had tried most of the jobs you could try without proper education.

It took them years but then they finally rented their own space which sort of registered as a flat if you didn’t have your good-for-nothing friend crashing on the couch in the living room for the last six months, and they managed to take over the absolutely greasiest diner that Crowley had ever seen in his life from the previous owner who apparently had some heart problems. Probably because of all of those particles of grease that were in the air itself.

And then he finally fucked up so much that he was thrown out of his own flat good and proper, all of his things in boxes in front of the grafitti-ed building.

He was impressed that no one had stolen anything, particularly in that neighbourhood and particularly since he had been missing from home for the past week but he guessed none of his things had looked appealing enough.

And now here he was. In Bea’s space. Sleeping on their couch. Probably sitting in their and Dagon’s way. _Probably a pain in the arse like he always was._

He had to admit that he had been more than confused? _Taken aback? Shocked_? He had no idea what he had been when Bea came by the hospital after his latest stupid misadventure had put him there.

‘I'm your emergency contact, fuck-face,’ they had said as they threw a Coke at him.

Coke for which he smiled widely at them and then opened it only to have it explode in his face.

_Okay, so maybe some things never changed._

‘Now come on, you’re staying with me.’

‘What?’

‘Your apartment is…hmmm…how can I put this mildly? Not yours anymore.’

‘What? I mean how -’

‘You forgot to pay rent. Again. Stupid sod. I paid the bills and then swore for a bit at your landlord for putting your stuff on the kerb like that. But I got them all,’ they added as they raised their hands trying to calm him down as soon as they saw his eyes welling up.

‘And my -’

‘Your mum’s stuff is safe. First thing I checked. Was tempted to go for your collection of leather trousers, seeing as I know you so well. But I checked that first. Now come on.’

‘Bee, how can I ever repay you?’

‘You are going to cook me so many home-cooked meals. And learn how to work the till. I need extra people.’

This time he could feel tears threaten for good. They didn’t need anyone else and despite them being really strict about money they weren’t making good profits with the joint. So to offer him a job was not only the nicest thing that anyone had ever done for him but also clearly suicidal.

He stepped back from memory lane.

‘No can’t do, Dana. I swing the other way as you well know. Pity. You’re darling, despite your sarcastic quips.’

‘Where would I be without them?’ she smirked at him and kissed Bea with abandon. ‘No, but in all honesty, scram in the next ten. I want to ravish Pix here on every possible surface and you know that I don’t mind an audience.’

‘Gah. You two are terrible. I’d better go anyway. Make sure that Eric didn’t burn the place down after you left,’ he cocked an eyebrow towards Bea as he grabbed a towel from the hamper.

‘If he did, tell him to tell the authorities "no comment" at every turn. I could do with that insurance money,’ they winked at him.

Dagon laughed out loud and landed on the sofa, Bea in her arms.

‘Hey there, knock it off,’ he chided from the bathroom door looking at the two of them with a fond expression. ‘I’ll never get that glitter off the mattress.’

‘As if that’s the worst thing that you ever had to scrub off this lousy thing,’ Dagon joked.

‘Nah, too much of a wuss to even do that,’ Bea quipped in and started kissing Dagon again.

Crowley tried his best not to roll his eyes at the two of them but his best wasn’t all that good so he did that before he disappeared inside the shower nook.

Bea was not just his closest friend and confidante. Bea was his family. Or whatever came closest to that.

He had been orphaned when he was twelve. He had met Bea at fourteen and not a year had gone by when they hadn’t done something for him or tried taking care of him one way or another.

He let the scalding water wash over him as he thought about the last thing they had had the decency to do. They were sweet like that. Not that they would let him live to see another day if they ever heard him referring to them as “sweet”. _None of them were_. You couldn’t have lived through what they had lived through and walked out sweet on the other side.

But they had encouraged him to do something he had considered for the last ten years at least. To get his mother’s fairy tales published.

That had been an interesting month. He had spent every waking hour when he was not serving greasy cheeseburgers at Bee’s place of work trying to copy the carefully written notebooks on Bea’s Vaio laptop that froze most of the time. Whenever it didn’t do that then that horrid man upstairs found a way to fuck up with the electric on all the street. And since Vaios were not known for their mighty batteries it was dead before he could save anything.

It had taken hard work and a lot of wall punching before Bea had told then that half of the walls were concrete and therefore he would break his knuckles on those and the other half were plaster and then they would break his knuckles if they needed to give up on their safety deposit because of any damage.

He finished his shower and brushed his teeth and even tried styling his hair somewhat even if no one would literally care about how his hair would look like. One tends to forget how the guy who serves you fish and chips at 4am looks like. And sometimes it was even for the best. Most of the times, really. He knew how he looked and the thoughts people entertained while looking at him. Not that he did anything to curb those thoughts with his tight leather trousers and shirts that had a lot of buttons opened. Buttons that should have been closed. And shirts that should have been three sizes larger.

He exited the bathroom only to see the other two make out on the couch. His couch. _Well, not his couch_. Bea’s. _But still._

‘Knock it off, you guys. It’s been seven minutes. I’ll be out of your hair soon enough. Especially yours, Dana. I know that’s just fit for glitter.’

A particular finger was presented.

‘I’ll just get dressed and leave you two love birds be. I just need to -’ he pointed at the smartphone on the coffee table trying to get a hold of it but Bea was faster on the intake even if they pushed Dagon aside rather unceremoniously.

‘Nah. You get dressed first. You’ll look at it afterwards.’

The worried look that the two exchanged didn’t escape him as he shrugged, apparently not caring about the whole thing and disappeared in Bea’s bedroom to get changed.

He didn’t understand why they were worried. It was probably one more rejection or one more person telling him that fantasy never sold these days. Or never sold if it was him writing that fantasy. That’s what he got in the latest months.

‘What do you plan to do with those?’ Bea had asked when they saw him unpack the notebooks first.

‘I…I dunno. They’re just…dunno.’

‘Have you ever considered publishing them?’

‘What?’

‘I know them, duck. I know them all by heart. You’ve read them to me more then a hundred times. She deserves that much. She had an amazing imagination and an amazing mind. You should do it. Honour her, you know. Rewrite them. Give them a bit of a spin. After all, what have you got to lose?’

What he had to lose in the end was all of his self esteem.

He had first tried going to the usual publishing houses. The well-established ones that everyone knew about.

They had always talked about how immature everything was. Even if…they were fairy tales. For children. They were supposed to feel immature.

 _Okay, he was going to try and make them…what? Better?_ He couldn’t do that since his mother’s stories were amazing as they were. _More complex?_ Alright, he could do that but what was the point?

He tried writing and rewriting and still all of the publishing houses told him a very clear no.

‘Fuck those guys,’ Bea supplied on their "screw everyone and everyone’s grandma" tone. ‘They won’t know what hit them. They wouldn’t know a good manuscript if it repeatedly slapped them in the face. Which I am inclined to do with any old manuscript if they continue being utter cunts to you and that amazing body of works.’

Bea had always loved his mum or whatever stories he had told them about her and they had always loved her stories but they were apparently doing more of an effort to tell him that his own take on those stories was any good. Which made him feel even worse about those stories.

He had never imagined himself a storyteller. He had never imagined himself anything much, to be honest. But he had felt at peace for the first time since the accident and that had made him feel hopeful. That was until the first rejection from one of the publishers.

Not even that, come to it. He realised he would be rejected by the biggest publishing house there was, Empyrean Press. He should have thought about that before even visiting their office.

The next nine – well, he didn’t expect a refusal from all of them. Bea had told him about publishing online and by now this was his only life-long dream. He didn’t have a lot of those and he fought really hard for this one. So he tried to do the e-reader thing. And he did. You could do that quite easily. But no one ever read it. And that made him ponder the whole thing. Of course it was not his mother’s fault. Those fairy tales were exquisite. It was his own for having rewritten them.

He was a talentless piece of shit worth less then the ground underneath his feet.

Bea would not give up, time and time again so they proposed sharing his work on some literary forums.

That had been a month ago so he had little hope but he still tried his best.

There weren’t many things in his life that deserved any interest and this was one of them so he would do whatever he could to get his mother’s prose out there even if by now it was more his own.

He dressed quickly, threw a large jacket over his shoulders and draped a thick scarf around his neck thinking that this was the night when he would delete all of the posts.

He did nothing but refresh each and every one of them time and time again and he realised in his heart of hearts that that wasn’t very good for him.

And he really needed to help Bea out instead of considering literary careers. Especially off of something that his mother had written in the first place.

He got out of the bedroom and did a small pirouette for the two people residing on the couch.

Dagon threw him a weird look and then threw Bea one as well.

‘Oi there, you wanker,’ Bea called after him as soon as he grabbed his sunglasses off the console in the hallway.

‘Yes, my darling ray of sunlight?’

‘Oh, shut it, duck. Come’ere.’

‘What for?’

Bea looked guilty for a minute before they jumped up from the couch, pushing Dagon aside who looked affronted for half a second before looking worried about Crowley2.

Bea threw themself in his arms while also presenting a mobile phone that should not have been in their hands to begin with.

‘I’m sorry, duck.’

‘It’s alright,’ he said as he tried to get the tears to retreat. He knew that Bee knew about them but at least Dagon wasn’t able to see them.

And it was not like he was going to cry out loud like a toddler that dropped his ice cream.

He nodded his head with his forehead on Bea’s shoulder for a while before he realised what he was doing and then he hissed, raised his forehead and was off.

The door clicked behind him but not before him hearing Bea snarling at Dagon:

‘I will kill for that man. You mark my words.’

He buried his face into his scarf as he started moving towards The Pit – the diner that Bee had not-so-carefully put together.

He knew Bea wasn't lying about the messages, and yet he was trying to refresh the page on the forum over and over on the way to his not-job.

He had a plan.

If no one wrote him anything until he got there then he would delete the whole account and forget about it.

The only problem was that the road there was really really short. No longer than two blocks.

He sighed and refreshed it one last time just outside the flickering neon sign. It was pretty obvious that he was no writer by this point.

There was one new message in his inbox. He never got any messages.

His eyes lingered on it.

It was, if possible, even longer than the last passage that he had shared on the forum.

It was…it was…delightful…exquisite…it was…he had no words...

**[Saturday 01:50 Library_of_Alexandria commented:]**

[…] _and, not in so many words, my dear, this is one of the best stories I have ever read in my life. It is honest and true to form and I want to read more of it, I do. You are an excellent storyteller and you make me feel bad about my own capabilities. I would like to at least speak to you and riff ideas off each other. I am at the edge of my seat thinking about what the princess does next but, then again, I think that was your whole idea to begin with. To leave us all pondering. All thinking whatever happens next. I must say that I will not be properly be able to sleep until I read the end of your tale._

_Yours,_

_A._

He gulped like a fish for what felt like minutes before Eric slid the window in front of him and started snapping his fingers at him.

‘Oi! Oi! Crowley! Bea said you’d be miffed about covering the shift tonight but I expected you to keep it together, honestly.’

Crowley lifted his eyes to look at the other employee of The Pit before grinning widely as if he won the lottery. 

‘Crowley, are you okay?’ the youth intoned but Crowley couldn’t give a shit about anyone or anything.

He instead smiled like a madman and shoved his phone in the younger man’s face.

‘This. This is an angel right here.’

The new employee smiled confusedly at him because that was what you did. He had no idea why but he though that was what was expected of him. So, he needed to appease the boss’s weird friend. You did that if you wanted to keep your job, even if that friend looked more like someone who was supposed to be committed, in all honesty3.

‘ _Angel_ ,’ Crowley repeated to himself as he clutched the phone.

1More like a bath-cupboard.

2Crowley honestly preferred the affronted look.

3You always did that. Especially in this economy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's some art I did for the fic](https://twitter.com/elfontheshelves/status/1337189832628592642/photo/1) \- after a long and hard battle (that ended in utter defeat for me) with the Gods of Ao3 embeding I just gave up, so a link is all I can offer.


	2. ...there was prince...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second half gets introduced.  
> CW: past homophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose) for beta-ing this :D You are a wonder!

Aziraphale had made a point not to read whatever nonsense people posted on forums some years ago. Especially not about his books since a lot of people thought they knew history just because they saw some Doctor Who episode once or zapped over something or other on the History Channel that had to do with Ancient Aliens or some other nonsense in their quest for something even more mind-numbing then that4.

And oh, there were _a lot_ of opinions about his books online because people liked to have opinions and share them, especially when those opinions were complete balderdash. _The less well-read you were the more you thought you knew. Well-known fact of life._

So, he had always tried to avoid those forums like the plague. Up until one of his meetings with Gabriel when he had been “encouraged” to reply to some of those and try to dissuade some of them from criticising his work – not as himself, of course, that would have just been poor form – but as a history buff and a big fan. Those people needed to hear that the famed author A.Z.Fell had some people in his corner.

Not that his books weren’t selling like mad. But Gabriel was always saying that they could get those numbers up somehow. And well, they did do that, from this book to the next.

That had been some years ago. He still had some pangs of guilt about it, him sitting around in front of his computer like that instead of reading an actual book in those particular moments and thus wasting good reading opportunities.

It had started innocently enough with him politely but accurately5 correcting people on some very common misconceptions.

And then he had started to actually enjoy it.

Arguing about history with people online was not something that he would have seen himself enjoying five years ago. But neither was giving in to whatever Gabriel and Michael had planned for him and doing anything else rather than mind his bookshop. And yet here they were.

On the one hand he was happy about the slight career change as it meant he didn’t need to rely on the bookshop to make a living. Not that he had ever had to rely on the bookshop, in the first place. But it had just felt wrong to rely on his inheritance and sit around doing nothing. And this way he could justify spending all day with his nose buried in a book as actual work and doing research for his upcoming book.

Gabriel had been all for it especially after what a huge success his first published volume had been and even said that he could handle the PR since Aziraphale obviously had no stomach for that. Which was a thing that he was completely right about - Aziraphale had no intention of handling that.

But, on the other hand, he had hoped that he had managed to get away from all of that family stuff and thought he had left it behind.

Even if his parents were no longer alive he could still remember all of the hurtful jabs about him needing to stop behaving like he was and how he should be trying harder to behave like his cousin Gabriel. Or even Michael, despite her being a woman. Even _she_ was better than Aziraphale. The “even” in that sentence said a lot about his parents’ way of thinking and there were times when he felt bad for her. Even her name betrayed her own parents’ dissapointment in her not being born a boy. But those thoughts were quickly forgotten as Aziraphale remembered what Michael was actually like and realised that she didn’t need any of his pity. None of his family did.

_Old money, was it?_

As if that gave them any excuse to behave the way they did.

Both of his parents had been scholars at Oxford and it for that reason and that reason alone that Aziraphale didn’t even think before applying for Cambridge instead. And studying English and History instead of any of the sciences. He wanted nothing whatsoever to do with them.

When he got his great aunt to welcome him into her home and second-hand books shop he was more then happy to leave all of the other stuff behind. It wasn’t as if he needed a fortune to live his best life. And his best life meant those people weren’t in it.

The only problem was that it wasn’t so easy to escape his family. And his family fortune and whatever came with that. Which was strings being attached.

That happened when he was presented with his mother’s will. His father had died some years before and communication between the two of them had been strained at best. But he was their only son and it was what they should do, leaving all of their worldly possessions to him. Proper, that. They certainly liked proper. Which, he had been reminded on more than one occasion that he absolutely was not.

Granted, people were far less understanding twenty years ago, but he very much doubted that his parents would understand or at least pretend like they did even if they were to all live on Mars, a couple of centuries into the future.

He had tried coming out to them sometime during doctoral studies thinking that he had done well enough for himself in all the other aspects of his life for them to at least be alright with this one thing. He had been sorely mistaken and soon enough, his partner at the time explained that he was far too good for Aziraphale and dumped him like he was yesterday’s garbage.

That had been the year his great aunt took him in. It had not been a very good year in some respects.

Five years later when he found out that the man with whom he had imagined that he would spend the rest of his life with had been basically bribed by his family to give him up – that was not a particularly good year either.

So he hadn’t been extraordinarily pleased initially when his two cousins decided to sneak back into his life as his childhood memories were not of the happy variety and he had hoped to leave all of that mess behind. But family was family at the end of the day so he guessed that was the best thing he could do. He had tried his best to forgive both of his parents after they had passed away. And those two were just children too at the time, so they weren’t to blame. For heaven’s sake, they had spent most of their youth across the pond and then their father managed to lose most of the family fortune. They were not responsible for the whole situation with his parents and they were after all his only remaining relatives. It took a while to get used to the idea, but he welcomed them in his life yet again. And he never let the idea that they seemed to only reach out to him after his first book was published and the will was read ever enter his mind.

And he had to admit that the next books he wrote had an outstanding number of readers and the publicity campaigns for them had been rather larger than life. He wasn’t always comfortable with the huge crowds and the book-signings and the interviews, but at least that’s how he managed to sell books that were not the ancient ones he had come to love and treasure and with which he surrounded himself and that’s how he tried to explain the bookshop being closed most of the time as something beneficial rather than him not wanting to part with anything and be selfish.

So yes, he guessed that Gabriel’s suggestions weren’t _always_ that bad. And thus, he started visiting the forums every now and again.

And, as time went by, he started reading the stuff submitted in the creation channels because – even if he took a guilty pleasure out of correcting people about history – he took an even greater one out of encouraging people about their own manuscripts. And he really enjoyed reading.

He had always liked creative types and had tried his best to encourage that as much as possible and this was probably the best medium to do that.

He had no idea who anyone was so no one could fault him for being subjective.

He had commented on maybe a dozen of them with something like “excellent work” or “looking forward to more of this” before he stumbled upon it.

It was in the Fantasy section and hadn’t read much fantasy so far. Just the basics. He preferred history and facts and hard research. That was something he had been taught early on.

But it was just something about the summary that made him want to read this. It wasn’t even such a long read and he had been known to devour a book in a day so what was the harm in reading this small bit of prose?

It was three hours later and he had read the story maybe a dozen times.

He had no idea what was the particular thing about it that made him revisit it time and time again and yet he did. And then he let it be for a couple of days and then he read it again.

He always left polite comments like “that’s nice, dear” because he wanted to be kind to all of the people who put themselves up there and shared their art. But this just appealed to his very soul. And he had never read any fantasy like this before. Not ever, in his life. He had his nanny read some fairy tales to him back when he was very young but that had been it.

No, that was not true. He remembered he quite liked it in his youth.

And he had started reading A song of Ice and Fire at some point because Gabriel had suggested he should do more of what “that guy who did Game of Thrones was doing” what with all the sex and the violence and all that. _Not the wizards and the dragons, obviously. That was unseemly._

After the first half of the book he got the strong impression that Gabriel had not read any of it to begin with.

He actually happened to like the dragons better than the rest. The sex and the violence not so much. There was enough of that in his research as it was. Even if perhaps not as graphic. _Um, certainly not as graphic_. And he was very intrigued about the amount of research and nods to bits of history that had gone into that series. So he managed to read one volume before he gave up on account of those latter things that he seriously did not enjoy.

He had read The Chronicles of Narnia as a young boy and The Lord of the Rings as a young adult and on both occasions he had been told that he was foolish to crowd his mind with nonsense like that instead of minding his studies.

So he didn’t try to venture into exploring fantasy literature as a general rule. But there was something about this story in particular.

It was called “Faeriedance” and labelled as a multi-chaptered story but whoever wrote it – StarryNight, apparently, hadn’t posted anything but the first three chapters in the last two months.

They even acknowledged in one of their comments that they won’t be sharing more of the story anymore since it was far too personal and no one seemed to like it anyway.

He couldn’t have that. He couldn’t. He needed to read it till the end.

Whoever this StarryNight person was they had something special hidden deep in their very soul. It was maybe not the story of a well-versed author since Aziraphale knew all about pacing and cliffhangers and ways to get the readers hooked with only a few well-thought-of words that had nothing to do with characters’ motivations. This person was having none of that. All of the actions, all of the story really, was driven by the characters in a way that didn’t feel forced. That didn’t feel like they were just completing a story arc. They didn’t even feel like characters. They felt…human. Life-like. Driven by passions and desires and little quirks that would have never worked in a blockbuster. If one character wanted to stop whatever he was doing just to drink a pint he did that. If another one stopped on the side of the road to pickup up flowers she would do that too. None of this influenced the plot in any way. It almost derailed it entirely, come to think of it. And yet…there was something profoundly endearing about that. Because that was something a real person would do. Decide stuff on a whim, not being aware that they would have to fit into some larger than life narrative that would dictate each of their actions and reactions, but just live in the moment.

And suddenly everything he knew about writing felt fake and fabricated when met with the pure openness that this particular person poured into the story.

They didn’t write to get praise. They didn’t write to sell bestsellers. They wrote because it brought them joy and they wanted to bring other people joy.

 _Why would they end the latest chapter with the evil plan, otherwise?_ If they would have been a well known author they would have tried ending that particular chapter just before the plans were revealed and then let the audience steam and come up with theories before posting the next chapter. But it was obvious that they didn’t want to make anyone nervous and tried their best to have all of the chapters finish on a happy note, or at least try not to leave people in the dark. A thing which Aziraphale rarely saw lately. And a fact that he treasured dearly. Although he never did that. Gabriel was entirely responsible for that. Or was he? After all, Aziraphale could have always said no to him whenever he came with stupid writing advice. Aziraphale didn’t want to be pedantic even if he usually seemed that way to people who hadn’t met him but Gabriel wasn’t even a writer. So he should not heed that advice. He was responsible for the novels here. Gabriel was just supposed to sell them. And whenever they didn’t exceed his expectations, he would come to Aziraphale and offer more unsolicited nonsense.

_Should he, though? Should he pour his heart out about this piece of prose? Or should he just congratulate whoever the writer was primly and be done with it?_

It was the title that did it. Faeriedance.

It sounded like something that someone would have read to him as a young child. Even if the story in itself was far too complex for children.

There was love poured into this story, that much was obvious.

So, if someone spent their time writing this masterpiece, he might as well make his opinions known. After all, he was known for his long and winding writing, so he could maybe apply it to this as well.

He knew for sure how happy and proud he would get whenever he would read a review on one of his own books. Sure, Gabriel said that he was only supposed to look at the 5/5 mark and that was enough but he always thought that the reviews were personal opinions that should be given the time of day and tried to read each and every one whenever he could.

He sat down in front of his antiquated laptop and started to write.

At some point Madame Tracy let herself in and started pottering about but he paid her no mind.

He knew her actual name was Marjorie Potts but she seemed to like the apellative so he went along with it as he went along with her using his bookshop every other Thursday for “going beyond the veil” as she put it and “putting the veil over people’s faces” as he did.

‘Coooe, mister A,’ he heard her voice from somewhere in the entrance area to the back of the shop and he mumbled something in return.

He wasn’t being particularly articulate for a prize-winning author at the moment. He was saving all of those words for whatever message he was composing right now.

_I have never stumbled upon your writing before but I have to admit that it is something that brings a lot of nostalgic thoughts to my mind. It made me laugh and weep whenever I read it and then read it again, and let me tell you, my dear, I did that quite a lot._

_You certainly have your way with your characters, making the inept but lovable hero quite indispensable to the story. Not to mention the seamstress that decides to venture on a life-changing adventure only to help the love of her life win the hand of the princess._

_I loved the world-building and I loved the depictions of the scenery. Especially your portrayal of the midnight sky. I have never read something so poetic before. You seem to paint it in such a fascinating way that I instantly wished I was on a field somewhere stargazing instead of cooped-up in London where you’re lucky to see a star once every blue moon. I had never before gave that thought my the time of day – well, night rather, pardon the pun – before I read your beautiful piece._

_And the mere idea of a story within a story was so well executed – I simply have no words._

_I wonder what will happen to the book whose pages they are lost inside as the story unfolds._

_I am saddened by your decision to stop writing this story because, in all honesty this is all that I have been thinking about for the last couple of days and I think you owe it to the world to share it with the rest of us. Or maybe I am just being selfish._

_The premise is great, the characters are entertaining and_ , _not in so many words, my dear, this is one of the best stories I have ever read in a while. It is honest and true to form and I want to read more of it, I do. You are an excellent storyteller and you make me feel bad about my own capabilities. I would like to at least speak to you and riff ideas off each other. I am at the edge of my seat thinking about what the princess does next but, then again, I think that was your whole idea to begin with. To leave us all pondering. To leave us all thinking about whatever happens next. I must say that I will not be properly be able to sleep until I read the end of your tale._

‘Mister A?’ Marjorie called him from the door frame of the backroom.

He was just about to hit send when her voice interrupted him.

‘Yes, my dear?’

‘It’s just that you have been awfully quiet and spent more time in front of that computer than in all of the years we have known each other put together.’

He looked at that novel of a message and chuckled.

‘Yes, I suppose you are right. Silly of me. Let me just put the kettle on,’ he smiled warmly at her and got up from his desk.

His fingers danced over the enter key but he drew his hand back and motioned her to follow him into the cramped kitchen at the back of the bookshop.

He knew that he probably shouldn’t entertain “the help”6, offering her tea and cake and sitting around gossiping on paid hours but he liked her a lot. She was one of the few people he actually liked and he shouldn’t feel guilty for wanting to have a meaningful conversation every now and again. Even if that conversation was about Mrs. Omerod three doors down or the newest gossip in The Sun. At least it was real stuff and not poorly constructed fantasies of what the next profits should be and time schedules about when it was best for his next book to hit the shelves. Such a crude way of putting it too. Not to mention that you didn’t just snap your fingers and poof! a book appeared.

He let his mind wander about how a conversation with the mistery writer would go and chided himself for it. Maybe he shouldn’t even send that. It was a bit presumptuous of him to assume that that person had the time of day to read his ramblings.

So he focused his mind on what Tracy was telling him instead. This time it was some gossip about the owners of the more…ahem…specialised bookshop next door.

The conversation was brash and easy and Aziraphale loved each and every minute of it, so the “cleaning session” quickly turned into a full-on “gossip exchange” and the tea swiftly turned into a bottle of red or three.

He called her a cab somewhere around midnight because he couldn’t have her walking down the streets at that hour. And then he finished the last bottle of wine by himself because he couldn’t let it just lie around.

At around 1am he started circling the computer. He had been emboldened by a fourth bottle of wine that he remembered having left open in the fridge a couple days before.

At 1:30 he was already making excuses for sending that long message. He would feel pretty much like a stalker and like a demented person. _No. Better not, when all was said and done._

At 10 minutes to 2 the last drops from the bottle had been ingested so he drew in a deep breath and hit send.

At about 5 after 2 he started panicking.

_What was the matter with him?_

_Who sent comments like that?_

_A psycho, that’s who._

At half past two he was already in a full frenzy when he noticed that he got a response.

He had to try his hardest to focus his eyes on the screen, his vision dancing for a bit.

**[Saturday 02:32 StarryNight commented:]**

_thanks, angel_

_thats the nicest thing anyone ever wrote about this story_

_hell, the only one_

_theres a series, ya kno?_

_its quite the fictional universe inside my head_

_no one wants to read about it, ofc, but its there_

_i could message you anytime you wanted_

_or you me_

_whatevs_

_a_ _nyway_

_thanks_

_it was super nice of you to leave that message_

_means a lot to me_

_Angel?_

He didn’t even know this person but his cheeks instantly became the colour of the wine he had been indulging in.

He fought the urge to frown about the honest to God appalling punctuation and grammar. He didn’t fight very hard as “angel” kept swimming in his drunken brain.

**[Saturday 00:34 Library_of_Alexandria commented:]**

_Of course, my dear. You can message me whenever you want. I can’t say I approve of the way you massacre the English language in your messages, but with a story like that I am willing to give you a pass._

Typing that and then checking it for typos took far more than Aziraphale was willing to admit as he pressed his index finger over this key and then the next and then squinted at the screen for a while.

He smiled at himself as he hit sent.

**[Saturday 00:35 Library_of_Alexandria commented:]**

_Hope to hear from you soon, dear._

He felt the need to add that for some reason.

He would probably regret that in the morning. But it was not the morning now and someone had just called him “angel”. And he was completely and utterly sloshed.

4Although he fought back a shiver at what that would even be.

5With a string of Wikipedia articles quoted as sources and a lot of actual books recommended as even more accurate sources although he knew that no one would actually read those.

6As Gabriel put it in that particularly offending way he had.


	3. ...on a cold winter night...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two bois finally talk!  
> Oh, and Crowley is a complete panic noodle throughout - but what else is new?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my wonderful beta, [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose)!

Crowley returned to the flat a little bit after sunrise with a bag of greasy cheeseburgers and hope in his heart.

Usually it would just be cholesterol because of those awful burgers. But this time around he wanted to sprint over or even have a small victory dance on the pavement before he reached what he now associated with home. He even sort of understood the sentiment in all of those musicals where people hugged lamp posts or other ridiculous shit like that.

Not only had he gotten the mother and father of good reviews but whoever this was wanted to talk with him and called him “dear”.

No one called him “dear”.

It felt precious.

He tried his best not to make the old wooden stairwell creak and not to jingle the keys too hard so as not to wake up Bea or Dagon but his plans were thwarted by the takeout bag slipping out of his hand as he tried to hold the key, the bag, the flyer for the burlesque show he had just retrieved from the mailbox and his phone all at once.

The bag landed on the wooden floor of the hallway making far more noise than it was physically possible.

Dagon was the one who rose first.

‘Whassit?’

‘Shhh! Go back to bed. I don’t want to wake Bee up or they will literally kill me.’

There was something in his tone of voice apparently as there was a fumble in the sheets and Dagon stepped into the living room clad in only one of Bee’s dark shirts. Not even that. One of Crowley’s dark shirts if he looked at it more attentively.

‘What did you bring over this time, Crowley?’

‘Same old.’

Dagon looked at him dubiously some more.

‘BEE!’

‘Whaaaa?’

‘Come here. You’ll want to see this.’

‘What would they want to see? Me stinking of frying oil even if I never set foot into the kitchen to begin with? You really need to install a filter or something, Bee!’

‘Wait a sec, babes. I need to put something on. I am not very presentable at the moment.’

‘Neither is your girlfriend. My shirt, Bee? What did I tell you about that?’

‘Well, my apartment, so shut up.’

It took them several minutes to actually step out of the bedroom, another one of Crowley’s shirts draped over their lithe form and wearing a pair of shorts that neither him or Bea would have been caught dead in, all silvery and shiny like that so, probably Dagon’s.

They took one good hard look at him and dashed for his shoulder bag before he had any chance to retaliate.

After a quick fumble they realised that the bag was devoid of any mobile contraptions and narrowed their eyes on Crowley, noticing it in his hand. They grabbed it without much decorum or ceremony, as they were prone to do.

And now, phone in hand and scrolling through his messages like mad with the tip of their tongue poking out mischievously they managed to roll through texts, Whatsapp convos, Messenger, Grindr and now arrived on the comments on the forum.

Somehow he blushed even more than he would have it Bee would have discovered a string of particularly lewd sexts. They tended to read those anyway7.

‘Oh,’ they said after reading the string of messages.

Crowley tried opening his mouth to explain but they raised a finger that managed to shut him up completely.

‘OH!’ they repeated and they threw the phone haphazardly in the general direction of the couch.

There was no love lost between Crowley and that particular phone anyway. It could crash into a million pieces, for all he cared. The only reason he didn’t cut his fingers on the half shattered screen anymore was that Bea had gone and bought him a protective foil at some point and glued it to the poor excuse of a phone, grumbling about how Crowley wouldn’t even last a full week on his own if it wasn’t for them. Which, to a fair extent, was rather true.

The next thing Crowley knew though was that Bea threw themself at him and nearly broke his ribs in the process. 

‘You stupid wanker. That is the loveliest thing anyone has ever written about you and the thing.’

They always referred to the collection of short stories as “The Thing”. He had no idea why.

‘I know.’

‘You called them angel. Haha, sap.’

‘I did. But can we talk about it after we eat something and I get two hours of sleep in?’

‘Okay, I guess,’ they said as they prodded the take out bag with their toe. ‘You didn’t take stuff from the diner again, did you?’

‘Well, it’s free and helps us in both the spending and the not throwing away stuff department.’

‘It also makes it a certainty that my arteries are going to drown in cholesterol before I’m forty. I thought I asked for paneer tikka, you knob.’

‘It’s free food. Shut up. The both of you. Now what stupid movie are we watching this morning?’ he asked as he threw himself back on the couch.

‘Nightmare on Elm Street,’ Bea replied and, sure enough, they worked a bit on the DVD player before they landed on the couch as well, Crowley’s head resting on their lap mere moments later.

It took no more then ten minutes and he was sound asleep. Not that any of the three people in the room expected a different outcome.

When he woke up later it was mid-afternoon. Crowley and waking up early mornings didn’t go in the same sentence. And that wasn’t even because of the late-night shifts. It was just a fact of life.

Half of an eaten cheeseburger was left on the coffee table together with a a note that read “eat this” as if he was in Alice in Wonderland or something but the outcome of him partaking in the proffered food offering would just be coronary problems.

Next to it was his phone with another post-it glued to it.

_What had Bea gone and done this time?_

He hoped they didn’t alter their Grindr profile anymore than they had already done. Or send threats to everyone who thought of sending him a picture of their more intimate areas8.

But they always tended to do that. Meddle in his personal affairs under the guise of taking care of him. He knew their heart was in the right place, he just wondered if it was still beating, though.

 _What did they go and do this time?_ Did they reinstall CandyCrush so that he would lose all his stats? He knew they took a sick pleasure in that.

Did they update his Facebook again with wildly personal data such as birthdays? They only did that once and he took it down quickly enough, but it didn’t hurt to check.

_Oh no. Somehow this was even worse._

The unnamed angel had messaged him.

**[Saturday 8:00 Library_of_Alexandria commented:]**

_My dear, please forgive me for being so verbose and unabashed in our exchange last night. I must admit I had partaken in quite a large amount of alcohol and even if that should never be an excuse I must apologise for my complete lack of propriety._

To which apparently Bea had replied…

**[Saturday 9:05 StarryNight commented:]**

_now dont be daft. thats A-okay. fancy a coffee?_

Oh.

_Oh shit._

‘BEE!!!!’ he bellowed but was only met with silence.

He was going to kill them whenever they decided to come back to the apartment. It was their place after all so they had to show their face at some point or other. He could wait it out.

He typed a long tirade of torture methods Bea would be submitted to once they returned home and then stared at the screen for some time not knowing what he could possibly write back to the only person who had taken the time of day to write anything to him. Not to mention that it was _that_ particular thing.

He then spotted the post IT that he had peeled off without even looking at it.

It read: ‘They live in London.’

He needed to Google some more inventive medieval torture methods than the ones that he had already come up with and submit Bea to each and every one of them. But for now he had another problem to deal with.

He started typing.

_im really sry bout that angel. its just that my roommate –_

_Nah_ , he couldn’t say roommate. That made him sound like a penniless eighteen year old sleeping on someone’s couch when in actuality only half of that was true.

_Partner in crime?_

That had a wicked ring to it but somehow he didn’t want to attract anyone’s attention to his days of toeing the line between what was legal and what wasn’t with his toes very much dipping in the latter.

_BFF?_

That made him sound like a thirteen year old girl with ponytails.

What did it matter so much anyway? He didn’t even know this person. Was it that important what they thought of him? Was he really so pathetic to want to please someone who he didn’t even know?

 _Yes. Yes he was._ Completely and utterly pathetic. But there was nothing to be done about that.

_Friend?_

Friend would have to do. Even if it sounded a tad generic.

So he tried again.

**[Saturday 16:04 StarryNight commented:]**

_im really sry bout that angel_

_its just that my friend took a hold of my phone and typed that message_

_they always pull shit like that_

_their idea od a joke I guess_

_sry_

He spent the next ten minutes giving his phone the side eye. His expression alone could have melted metal and broken glass.

He tried refreshing the page a couple of times but nothing of much import happened.

Bea had completely screwed him over. And this time it was not “aw” or “funny” or “cute”. This time they really did it.

He looked at the time stamp on the message that they had sent and it was in the early hours of the morning. It was now a little past four in the afternoon.

They had managed to scare the kind stranger completely off.

He bit knuckles long and hard trying to fight back a frustrated scream.

They would have surely seen the message by now and if they so chose they would have replied to it. But no reply came. _That’s it then_ , he told himself as he stepped into the shower and took the longest and most scalding hot shower known to man trying his hardest not to openly sob.

It had been the happiest he had felt in months. The only glimmer of hope in his sad and useless existence.

Of course, he went through the motions like everybody else. Got up, went to work. Kept living. _Well. Existing more like_. Whatever the hell he was doing right now didn’t feel like a proper life at all. It just felt like going through the motions until those greasy burgers would come back with a vengeance or maybe his smoking, or hell, he might just get lucky enough and get hit by a bus instead.

He stumbled out of the shower on unsteady feet not even bothering to put any clothes on as he knew no one would be in at this time of day. And then he noticed the half burger on the coffee table and his stomach did a weird thing so he took it and threw it in the bin as soon as he entered the cramped kitchen space in order to make himself a cup of coffee.

But instead he noticed Bea’s cheap bottle of store brand rum on the counter and decided that drinking in the middle of the day was something that fit whatever was happening in his life very much at the moment. Never mind that he didn’t get any breakfast, or that he had an evening shift later on.

He put on a pair of shorts for propriety’s sake although he couldn’t say who's propriety that was and threw himself down on the couch fumbling around for the remote among the sheets with one hand while he opened the bottle cap with the other.

Remote in hand and TV set on he took a healthy swig.

He passed through a series of channels before he settled for some loud and probably annoying game show. That was to say it would have been annoying if he would have been paying it any particular attention. He wasn’t. His eyes were glazed over and staring blankly at the TV, not registering anything that went on.

Writing that piece of shit story had been the height of his life for the past couple of months.

Ever since the “accident”, or, more plainly put ever since he got his arse handed to him by those complete shitstains Hastur and Ligur and had to be hospitalised with a broken leg and a couple of broken ribs, he didn’t think he was ever as content as he was when he was writing. Not only did he get to relieve his childhood before it all went to shit and remember his mother’s voice but he got to breathe new life into those stories. Got to live, if only for a little while in a fantasy world where everything was as it should be and where he could go and escape whatever shit the real world wanted to throw at him. And it was lot of it. Piles upon piles of shit.

He must have really pissed someone up there in a previous life, he pondered and then dismissed the thought as soon as it came since he didn’t believe that nonsense. But sometimes it got him wondering.

He was 36. Single and apparently staying that way aside from the casual shag every now and again. Homeless. Well, he had Bea for support but sleeping on someone’s couch in your late thirties sort of qualified you as homeless, in his eyes at least. It beat sleeping in his car though. He remembered doing that in his early twenties and he could not say he missed it. Not even one bit. Unemployed because working the till at Bea’s diner for zero pay was very very unemployed by his standards. And he sucked at pretty much everything.

For a while he thought he at least didn’t suck at this but the glaring lack of response said otherwise. And yesterday night…well, he had felt better than he had in months. In years even. And now it was all over because Bea had decided to play silly buggers.

He downed the bottle and lay down on the couch staring at the ceiling while the TV droned in the background.

It must have been hours later when he heard the keys jingle in the lock and he was laying by his side, by now clutching at the rum bottle as if it was a very not-fit-for-children teddy bear.

He didn’t notice who stepped in and frankly he didn’t care.

It wasn’t until someone kicked the side of the couch so hard that the springs squeaked that he turned his head around to see what the matter was.

He realised that it was dark outside by now. Not that that was saying much.

‘The fuck you think you’re doing, you fucking reprobate. That was my best bottle of rum. Well, only.’

‘I’ll buy you another one. Just leave me alone.’-

‘What’d the mysterious angel say?’ they kicked the couch some more and this prompted Crowley to completely roll over and bury his face into one of the many throw pillows that Dagon had seemed to want to bring around over time. This one was shaped like a fish and was almost as long as Crowley’s arm. It was shiny and completely kitsch and therefore Dagon’s favourite.

‘What’d they say, duck? Do I need to find out their address and break their legs for you?’

‘Would you stop it? Just...just stop it, please…’ he whispered against the pillow.

‘What did I do?’

At this he nearly jumped off the couch completely in an attempt to get into a sitting position.

‘What did you do? What did you _DO_?’

Bea looked at him with a raised eyebrow and their mouth hanging slightly open.

‘I mean I -’

‘I asked you time and time again to stop messing with my shit. And for a while it was very funny, haha. But this does it, Bee. This takes the cake. And probably shoves it up its own arse. How _could_ you?’

‘Well, I -’

‘No! You don’t get to come with excuses and I won’t dismiss this as another dick pic incident. I thought you were happy for me. How could you!’

‘I just asked them if they wanted to meet for coffee, sheesh. Since they live in London and all. I thought you’d be happy to meet them.’

‘Of course I would, but guess what? They wouldn’t. You need to stop doing this Bee. You need to stop taking decisions in my stead. I think…I think I’ll have to get a job. A proper one. And then I’ll be out of your hair.’

At this, Bea pursed their lips and furrowed their brows gripping the phone as they passed through his shit password. 6666 because he was at heart still an edgy fourteen year old. And then they went to check the messages on the forum.

‘There you go, you dramatic wanker,’ they said as they tossed the phone at him and headed for the kitchen.

‘And you will buy me a bottle of rum. And it better be a good one. Move and get a proper job, as if.’

Crowley took the phone and looked at the screen only to see three new messages.

‘They wrote back.’

‘Of course they did. Now if only you hadn’t been a goddamned drama queen you might have seen those messages two hours ago. But what did you do? What you always fucking do which is panic and self-sabotage.’

**[Saturday 22:06 Library_of_Alexandria commented:]**

_Hello again, my dear. Judging by the atrocious spelling I presumed it was still you but I guess that is what passes for English in your circle of friends._

He chuckled a bit at that despite himself and the absolutely horrible state he was in. _Wow._ The angel came with an attitude.

‘Can’t say I enjoyed that jab at my honest to Satan perfect diction. Most of the signs at the diner have less spelling going on than that. I did my best since I was dealing with one of your literary types,’ Bea intoned from the kitchen where they were microwaving something. ‘I have half a mind to actually find out where they live and break their legs anyway.’

‘Look, Bee, I’m sorry for earlier. I just -’

‘Shut it. Read the rest of your messages and just...just shut it.’

**[Saturday 22:09 Library_of_Alexandria commented:]**

_I confess I was rather taken aback by your – well, I guess your friend’s – proposition. I don’t usually meet up with people I have just encountered on the Internet. You could be a serial killer. Or, even worse, someone who watches Ancient Aliens._

Crowley snorted but kept reading. He liked this person, whoever they were more and more by the minute.

_\- so what assurances do I get that I will not be viciously slaughtered or told at length about how extraterrestrial life forms are responsible for the building of the pyramids? No, my dear, that simply wouldn’t do._

Crowley frowned for a bit and started reading the next message.

**[Saturday 22:14 Library_of_Alexandria commented:]**

_But I am interested in your story not to mention the other ones you told me about. We could discuss them in a less public setting however. I have no intention of debating character arcs with you that someone else might steal later on. And I do believe they will, what with the quality of the narrative. I am not very well acquainted with means of communication online therefore I am accepting your suggestions on how to communicate in a more private manner._

Crowley raised his eyes from the phone only to see Bea stand by the side of the couch with a bowl extended.

‘What’s this?’

‘Human sustenance. Of the non-alcoholic variety.’

He took the bowl and peered at it as if it had personally slandered him.

‘Paneer tikka. Like I wanted to get last night.’

‘Bee, you know that it would just be cheaper to -’

‘Shut the fuck up and eat. That right there is the healthiest meal you ate all month. Here, have some rice,’ they pushed another plate vaguely towards him, this time on the coffee table and then they gently kneed his ribs and gave him a look that screamed “scoot over”.

He did and they spent the next five minutes eating in silence both of them staring straight ahead at the TV that was now showing a rerun of some sitcom or other that they had probably seen more than half a dozen times.

‘I didn’t want to intervene, duck. I just want you to be happy. You know that, yes?’

‘I do. I just…I panicked.’

‘As you do.’

That got them a prod to the ribs.

‘Don’t be a little shit. You know you do. That’s what I like about you. You’re never afraid of the whole …thing.’

‘Feelings?’

‘Yeah, that shit. I really wanted you and whoever this angel is to get along. Who knows, if he’s a dude maybe you’d both hit it off and fuck off into the sunset.’

Crowley burst out laughing.

‘By the way they compose their messages I doubt very much that they would appreciate being called a dude.’

‘Well, they made fun of my stellar punctuation and shit. So they deserve it. Hey, maybe they’re even a good-looking dude and you get an honest shag out of it on the side. You know, book commentary by day, being riled into the mattress by night. Not my mattress, preferably.’

This got them another sharp prod in the ribs but then they both burst out laughing.

‘You are incorrigible.’

‘I know. One of my strong suits, that. Now finish you take out. You’re not working tonight.’

‘What? But it’s my shift -’

‘And yesterday was mine and you took care of it. You are absolutely hammered. I will not have you wandering the streets like that. And not working the till, of course, what would people think?’ they added so as not to seem all that soft or caring. ‘And plus, Dagon has a show tonight, so I would get bored anyway. Sit in and talk to your book angel.’

‘Thank you, Bee, I mean - ’

‘Shut it.’

They got up and cleared the rest of the plates leaving Crowley sitting in the middle of the couch long fingers wrapped around the bowl in his lap. Maybe he would eat the rest later, he mused as he laid it gingerly on the coffee table and picked up the phone instead.

**[Sunday 00:17 StarryNight commented:]**

_sorry for ghosting you angel_

_thought i scared you of with the cofee thing_

_i can chat on whatev you like_

_mail, whathasp, you name it_

_and I most def don’t talk about sodding aliens – now serial killing, that might still be in the books_

Bea was doing more stuff in the kitchen, he noticed with his peripheral vision but didn’t pay them much mind.

Not even five full minutes passed and he got a message back.

**[Sunday 00:21 Library_of_Alexandria commented:]**

_The e-mail option sounds wonderful. The other one not so much since I do not own a mobile device that can connect to the Internet. That is also the reason that I took so long to reply to your messages. I was very busy yesterday and I could not return to my computer until late evening. I am extremely sorry for that. I never meant to keep you waiting._

Crowley couldn’t help a small smile.

**[Sunday 00:23 Library_of_Alexandria commented:]**

_No, that is very presumptuous of me. Of course I didn’t keep you waiting. You have better things to do with your day other than waiting by your computer all day to hear from a stranger over the Internet._

Crowley pondered if he could have ten reactions all at once. For starters he felt elated that the only reason why both Bea’s and his messages were ignored had nothing to do with him but with the angel’s schedule. Secondly, he wanted to squeal like a teenager about how cute this stranger sounded when they kept referring to it all prim and proper as “the Internet”. Thirdly, this kind stranger presumed that he had anything better to do than to wait for praise from utter strangers. They didn’t know him yet, so just for a short while he could pretend that he was something noteworthy. That he was that someone that would be too busy to feel faint at the smallest compliment. It was too much.

**[Sunday 00:23 StarryNight commented:]**

_nah, we good angel._

**[Sunday 00:24 Library_of_Alexandria commented:]**

_Why do you keep calling me that, dear?_

_Oh, shit_. He did, didn’t he? He scrolled through the messages and saw that he basically called them angel in almost each and every one. The first one had been a spur of the moment thing and he had hit sent in a flurry of excitement. But he had no proper excuse for the others.

**[Sunday 00:24 StarryNight commented:]**

_just think s funny thats all_

**[Sunday 00:25 Library_of_Alexandria commented:]**

_Funny how?_

**[Sunday 00:25 StarryNight commented:]**

_funny haha_

_drop it_

_you wanted to talk in private_

_i guess there’s always private numbers and all that_

_I could post mine if yo don wanna post yours_

_no one reads this shite anyway_

**[Sunday 00:26 Library_of_Alexandria commented:]**

_Don’t sell yourself short, my dear. It is a lovely piece. Otherwise I wouldn’t pester you._

**[Sunday 00:26 StarryNight commented:]**

_no pestering going on here. no pestering at all_

**[Sunday 00:27 Library_of_Alexandria commented:]**

_I guess I could be amenable to that. If you swear not to kill me in my sleep._

**[Sunday 00:28 StarryNight commented:]**

_nah, none of that – told ya thats up for debate but i can say that i will NEVER talk about alien conspiracies._

**[Sunday 00:30 Library_of_Alexandria commented:]**

_I guess that is good enough, as far as promises go._

_oh and one other thing –_

Crowley typed as he remembered Bea’s train of thought. It was a particularly nice one. He tried to be subtle, though.

**[Sunday 00:31 StarryNight commented:]**

_oh and one other thing – what are yr pronouns_

_its just that my friend gets very bugged if anyone uses the wron ones and i dint wanna be THAT GUY_

**[Sunday 00:32 Library_of_Alexandria commented:]**

_No worries at all. I actually prefer it when this is cleared at first. I would prefer he/him if it’s alright with you. I am a forty year old man and very set in my ways. But I do understand and appreciate the need for asking in the first place._

Crowley hugged his phone and dropped on his back, sprawled on the couch and smiling like a mad person. And then typed some more before he lost his nerve.

Apparently, Bea had finished whatever they were doing in the kitchen and came by to give him the raised eyebrow treatment and sat there for a while, arms crossed over their chest.

‘What?’ Crowley asked when he couldn’t ignore them anymore.

‘It’s a dude.’

‘I told you he would be very cross if -’

‘Hah! A dude. If you don’t bang this one I will be really cross with you.’

‘We don’t even know if he’s gay. Or interested or…this feels like a huge leap, Bee. The only thing he did was leave me a lovely message.’

‘Several.’

‘Well…yeah. But I don’t know what he’s like.’

‘Hmm, let’s see…smug, pretentious, seems like the type that would boss you around and we both know that’s what you secretly need. And if you’re so weird about it just ask him for his number. Not that you’d ever do that, you wuss.’

‘Igavehimmynumber’

‘You did what now?’

‘Gave him my number,’ Crowley groaned as he buried his face into his hands.

‘Well done, you utter slut, you.’

‘It’s not like that.’

‘Of course it ain’t. Cheers. Someone needs to mind that soul-draining monstrosity. Don’t wait up. And eat that thing,’ they pointed at the bowl of paneer tikka.

‘Yeah. Just go and leave me alone.’

Bea smiled at him knowingly with a glint in their eye as they paused in the doorway.

‘Oh and judging by the huge stick up his arse alone he’s definitely gay. Wouldn’t you want to be what’s stuck up his arse instead?’

‘Bee!’

‘A’ight. Fine. I’m just saying,’ they chuckled and gave him a wink.

As soon as he heard the keys in the lock he turned his attention to the phone yet again and re-read the last couple of messages.

**[Sunday 00:34 StarryNight commented:]**

_same. bout bein a guy and almost forty. 36 actlly._

_we should talk in private after this, tbh. ill delete the whole thing. here’s my number._

Crowley had messaged his number. To a complete stranger on the internet. He waited for a full five minutes before starting to panic and realising that he should have just texted his email like a normal person would do so he deleted the whole exchange feeling a pit in his stomach as he did so.

Another five minutes and his phone rang.

Probably one of those stupid telemarketers again. _Wait_. It was past midnight. Probably Bea or Dana. Not like he had anything better to do.

‘Myeah?’

‘Hello, my dear.’

He tried to swallow but his throat was far too dry for that all of a sudden.

‘Ngk.’

‘Oh, dear. I thought that you would be more articulate. From your writing, at least.’

‘Myeah. That.’

The person on the other end laughed in earnest and it was the most beautiful sound that he had ever heard in his life. He fell in love with it instantly.

‘Oh, bother. Did I misstep? I though since you gave me you number…’

‘No, angel, it’s perfect like this.’

_Shit._

_Why did he keep doing that?_

‘That is quite the title. And we barely even know each other.’

‘I’m sorry. I am. I’ll just revert back to basics. Dunno what got into me.’

‘Oh no, dear. You must do no such thing. I quite like it for one. Not to mention that I’m not yet ready to give my name away to a complete stranger. I still don’t know if I could trust you about those conspiracy theories.’

‘Never mind all the murders.’

‘Oh, those are more than alright.’

It was Crowley’s turn to laugh. Whoever this person was, he was the best person that Crowley had ever had the pleasure of meeting. _Angel indeed._

‘…yeah.’

‘Are you tired, my dear?’

‘Wha?’

‘You wrote the most elegant and honest piece of prose that I ever had the pleasure of reading recently and right now you don’t seem all that eloquent.’

‘Guess not, angel.’

There was another laugh and Crowley’s poor excuse for a heart nearly melted.

‘I have to acquiesce that I find that very endearing.’

‘Do no such thing. Maybe I just do this to distract you. It is certainly not…endearing,’ he scowled at the last word as if it personally insulted him.

‘And you are very distracting indeed, my dear.’

‘Ngk.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘About?’

‘That whole universe you said you came up with.’

‘Don’wanna be a bother.’

‘If it would have been a bother I wouldn’t have asked. Unless…oh, I am bothering you, aren’t I? And at this late hour. No propriety at all.’

‘All of the propriety. Trust me.’

‘And why would I do that?’

‘Cause…heh, you really are a bit of a bastard, aren’t you?’

‘Well, I never!’ Crowley could hear a gasp in that voice but it was plain for anyone to see – hear – how fake that sounded.

‘Enough to be worth knowing, is what I meant.’

‘That is an improvement on your previous remark.’

‘You sound like an English teacher. Are you an English teacher?’

‘No, dear. But I did study English in University.’

‘Figures. You sound really posh.’

He couldn’t hear it but he swore that he felt the person on the other end frown.

‘Well, enough about me. What about you? What did you study?’

This was Crowley’s time to frown and then try to bite his tongue off for a while.

‘Dind’t go.’

‘What did you say, dear?’

‘Didn’t go to Uni.’

‘Oh. Well then. Their loss for not having you.’

‘Wha?’

‘I am certain that you would have been brilliant in whatever field you would have wanted to pursue as I am certain you are brilliant now.’

‘Astronomy,’ he managed in a broken voice and fought his hardest not to scream at himself for saying that out loud.

‘What’s that, dear?

‘I wanted to take astronomy.’

‘Oh. Oh that explains the wonderful depiction of the night sky. I was absolutely enamoured with that. It was very well executed. Oh, and your name too.’

‘Wha?’

‘StarryNight? That’s lovely. Like the painting.’

‘The song. But yeah. That.’

‘You really do sound tired. Maybe we could chat tomorrow when you are better rested.’

‘Uhm…’

‘What should I even call you? Since you went to all the trouble of calling me angel. Maybe Starlight?’

‘WHAT?’

‘Even if I have to admit that comes very hard for me to say in person. Maybe if it’s written it would sound better.’

‘Written.’

‘Yes, well, I have quite a busy schedule and I can’t always just call strangers that I met on the Internet like that. Maybe just try text messages. So that I don’t call you at almost 1am like a crazy person.’

‘Yes. Time. Hours. Messages. That.’

‘Glad you agree. And please get some sleep. You really aren’t your most articulate self at this point.’

‘Yes, angel. Whatever you say.’

There was a pause at the other end and Crowley wanted to throw his phone at the nearest wall as hard as possible while also crawling in a ditch and staying there.

‘I’ll message you tomorrow then? If you are amenable?’

_Amenable?_

_Fucking amenable?_

He was far more than that. He wanted to go to sleep while this kind and pleasant voice read stories to him. He wanted to wake up in the morning as he heard it against his neck or collarbones. He wanted to be able to hear it each and every moment he was awake and dream about it when he was asleep.

‘Myeah, guess so,’ he said instead, _fucking wanker that he was_.

‘Then let’s talk tomorrow, my dear. It has been a pleasure.’

 _Likewise_ , he wanted to say. _Your voice is the most soothing thing I have ever heard in all existence_ , he would then add. _Please, never stop talking to me_ , would be uttered, maybe, as an afterthought.

‘Myeah,’ he managed instead.

‘Good night, my dear.’

‘G’nite.’

He stared at his phone screen for a long while after the phone call ended non believing what happened to him in the last twenty-four hours and not being able to properly understand the roller coaster of emotions that he had been on.

Eventually he settled for draping a blanket over his shoulders and resting his head on the fish pillow as he clutched the phone to his chest with both hands.

It took him a while to fall asleep but, when he did, he dreamt of soft voices and even softer angel wings.

It was the best dream he had had in ages.

7And provide commentary.

8The last one had been particularly harrowing. It went something like ‘If I ever receive something like this again I will make it my life mission to find out who you are and where you live and honest to Satan I will cut that thing off’. He had to block that number soon enough judging by the content of the messages he received in return. Bea had been furious about it but they wouldn’t apologise for their behaviour. They drew a hard line at people objectifying him, they had said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fish pillow I mentioned is an actual thing. Ikea used to sell them. A friend has one and it's the most kitsch thing I've ever laid eyes on and therefore desperately want one.  
> Go Google "Ikea fish pillow" - you will not be disappointed.


	4. ...when the world was young...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale discovers more of Crowley's stories. And Crowley discovers...more. Full stop. He also discovers that he is a bit of a knob (if he didn't already know that to begin with)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as ever, to my darling beta, [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose). I don't know why you put up with me, honestly :))

Aziraphale put his phone down and then he took a long moment to get his heart in working order.

That voice.

It was intoxicating.

It was the sultriest voice he had ever heard in his life while at the same time being rather timid and reserved and sweet. _How exactly did it manage it all at once?_

It would be better for everyone involved to never actually find this man’s name, never mind setting eyes on him.

He didn’t even understand where this childish infatuation came from.

He was a middle-aged man who was comfortable in his own skin and his life was perfect as it was. He didn’t need to invite temptations like that into it.

Because that man’s voice was temptation incarnate.

 _What would he even call him?_ Starlight seemed to fit the stranger. He was mysterious and ethereal and a little bit magical.

Of course, not very eloquent in the late hours of the night but there was something extraordinarily sincere in his voice. Something he hadn’t heard in a long time. Especially not while surrounded by people like Gabriel or Michael. Both Anathema and Marjorie were honest all the time but he would categorise their tone of voice as blunt rather than sincere. This stranger was…something else. _He seemed_ …Aziraphale had no precise notion about what he seemed to be. _Intriguing didn’t even begin to describe it._

 _Alrigh, he needed to stop this_. Better catch some sleep instead. And then proceed with his regular routine the next day and stop thinking about the exchange. It was a stranger on the Internet. No need to get attached. He fought very hard not to think about the somersault that his stomach had decided on doing the moment he had been called "angel"9. 

But he did go to sleep and he did proceed to go about his morning schedule as usual.

When lunchtime came he already had a string of unread messages.

**[12:05]** Sry bout last night, angle

 **[12:05]** *angle

 **[12:05]** *angel

 **[12:06]** there we have it

 **[12:07]** i was really tired. couldnt function proprly

 **[12:07]** sry if i sounded a mess didnt mean to sound stupid.

 **[12:08]** i mean dont expect much better frm me but at least ill have you kno that im not usually lik that

_Oh, good god_ , the man’s spelling was absolutely atrocious. But it wasn’t his typing that had made Aziraphale instantly interested to learn all that there was to learn about this person. Even before he had known he was a man to begin with. Even before he had heard his voice that did quite a lot of interesting things to various ares of his body that he had stopped giving an interest to a while back.

He should feel ashamed with himself. _No_ , he should feel mortified. This was no way of treating a human being. He was not just a piece of meat on parade. He was a person. He was a person with an excellent imagination that had written a story that had moved Aziraphale to his very core. So there was no way he was even listening to any of those thoughts.

**[12:10]** No problem, dear. It happens to us all. I hope you enjoyed a good night’s sleep.

**[12:10]** yeah bout that

 **[12:10]** liek you said yesterday that you were sloshed

 **[12:10]** i was sorta sloshed last night as well

 **[12:10]** sry

**[12:13]** Stop apologising. It is not the end of the world and you have no reason to feel sorry. It was a Saturday night after all. Don’t most people partake on a Saturday?

**[12:13]** yeah s not liek that

 **[12:13]** got drunk at home like a misreable sod

Crowley stared at his phone in disbelief, realising that he actually sent that particular string of messages and then started banging his head on the coffee table.

_What the fuck was wrong with him?_

He had been given an out. A proper out. People did indeed drink on a Saturday evening even if perhaps not in their basement apartment that was not even theirs and maybe not store brand rum by the bottle and not by themselves. Alright, maybe the kind of people who were in their late thirties and living on their friend’s couch did. That was not the image he wanted to send across. But something about this man made him want to never tell him any lie, ever.

**[12:16]** I am sure you are exaggerating. I cannot imagine someone like you drinking alone at home on a Saturday.

_Oh, dear Lord_. He had gone and written that. Actually written that. _Oh, he could die from embarrassment_. Just, God almighty, end his suffering right now.

**[12:17]** and how wld someone like me look angle?

 **[12:17]** *angel

 **[12:17]** ffucks sale

**[12:18]** I am certain you look rather lovely.

Crowley looked at the phone uncertainly. _Was this flirting? Was this guy flirting with him?_ Well, he could flirt right back. He probably shouldn't but he was not well known for his wisdom in decision-making judging by his whereabouts alone.

**[12:19]** im sure you’re not so bad yourself. you sound very prim and proper. bet ya wear suits all the tiem and betcha look good in thme

It was Aziraphale’s turn to stare at his phone blankly. _No_. This was not happening. He hadn’t contacted this stranger to, as the youngsters called it, “hook up”. He had contacted him to congratulate him about his piece of prose. Which he had done already. So maybe it would be better to just nip it in the bud and be done with it rather than continue whatever this was because this certainly wasn’t going to end well.

His fingers seemed to circumvent whatever inner processes went inside his brain at the moment and decided to type up a response and press send instead. It took him a while to return from the land of charts and stats and percentages and, even more so – scenarios that his brain had become very adept at formulating about any and all situations and actually read the message that he had just typed on the screen instead.

**[12:24]** I do indeed. As for the aptness of your presumptions, I cannot possibly have an answer for you that would not make me seem either like self-pitying nancy or a vain and pretentious piece of work.

**[12:25]** your as pretentious as anything tbf

Aziraphale frowned. He did not consider himself to be pretentious. Proper. Yes, of course. He might even go for dapper if he was feeling in a particularly good mood that day. He somehow believed that his interlocutor would have a field day if he admitted to that.

Crowley’s fingers did the same thing in regards to typing before his brain got any news of it. Instead of charts and scenarios though, he just zoned out and felt like a proper tit for a while only to see the words on the cracked screen of his phone.

‘Well, fuck me sideways…’

And, even if, according to Bea at least, that was something he should have been hoping anyways the sentiment stated by his words was very much the polar opposite.

 _What in Satan’s or anyone who was listening’s name did he do that?_ Going around and calling the only person that had been nice to him in maybe like forever “pretentious”. He did shit like that with Bea. Insults instead of compliments. But Bea was family so that was alright. This man was a stranger. He would take offence. He _should_ take offence, frankly.

**[12:26]** sry dunno wot got into me

 **[12:26]** dindt mean to insult you

 **[12:26]** im being a shit

He reread that string of messages as well and then banged his head on the coffee table some more. He swore his brain just took off whenever it wished. Packed its bags and went on a tropical holiday. The Bahamas. Or maybe the Caribbean. Nah, even his own brain didn’t have enough money for that. It was probably Bath and it was probably camping with a tent he borrowed from someone. It was most definitely raining, judging by his sheer luck.

_How the hell could he write something like this?_

This was not putting your foot in your mouth. This was shoving both of them in there and then attempting pas de deux.

Just as he was contemplating burying his head in the sand somewhere – _damn, those ostriches had it right! Did they have it right?_ 10 – his phone buzzed on the table next to his head.

**[12:33]** I was rather hoping it wasn’t an insult, and, as such, I didn’t take your message the wrong way. I think you are just not used to people being genuinely nice to you and feel the need to lash out. But not to worry. I have thicker skin than to let a remark like that sway me. And please refrain from calling yourself that in the future. At least in any conversation that we have together. Firstly, it is rather vulgar. And secondly, you most certainly are not. You are a wonderful human being.

_first off I most certainly arent lovely and secondly whoa there dr phil!!!_

Crowley had to fight his every instinct not to hit send on that text. He actually deleted the whole thing and started typing again.

**[12:38]** youre right

 **[12:38]** m sry

 **[12:38]** forget I said anything

He should go and yell at the plants for a while and forget about this mortifying ordeal altogether. Or quietly hiss at them, since Bea was sleeping it off in the other room.

_Yeah. Better do that._

There was the cactus that Bea had first got him telling him that if he wanted to yell at anything in their apartment it wouldn’t be the toaster. _So what if it didn’t work even after a good, honest bashing?_ Nor would it be the - espresso machine would be an insult to all espresso machines ever to exist. _It worked at its own pace. That was the charm_. The TV was out of bounds as well, even if it did receive the attention of a random boot or flip flop being thrown at it every now and again so as to make the channel finally settle. And it most definitely wasn’t them since there were accommodating kerbs for all of his stuff in front of their apartment as well. They didn’t mean that last bit, but he wouldn’t put it past them to just take all of his stuff and place it outside just for shits and giggles.

So, cactus it was. Its name was Frank. There had been a lot of screaming directed its way but, it being a cactus, didn’t seem to mind much. Crowley didn’t believe that one bit. He knew the despicable bugger was doing this just to spite him and he suspected there would be a day soon when he would get to crack the sly bastard.

Then the aloe sort of happened. Its name was Penny. Because Crowley believed in equality and plants with girls’ names deserved to be yelled at as much as plants with boys’ names. The aloe was doing pretty good but he kept his yelling facade to keep it in check.

And then there was the snake plant. Crowley had found that siting near a garbage bin, simply abandoned like that in a side alley. He gritted his teeth for a long while before he stepped into the alley and grabbed the pot with a little too much determination. Bea had not commented about the snake plant as much as they did about the aloe. It was their apartment after all so if they wanted to comment they should damn well comment but they felt like this was something else so they gave up on the whole aesthetic of their crack-house turned crack-home for a little bit as they let plant life clutter their personal space. The snake plant wasn’t yelled at so much as the others even if it did get its fair share of belittlement. It was called Bob because…well, it just looked like a Bob.

This time the subject of his ire was Penny who, when everything was said and done, took it in strides. _Good girl_ , Crowley internally congratulated her. Not that he would ever say those words out loud for fear of spoiling her rotten.

After his tirade was over he pondered what he should do next to avoid that dratted phone and making even more of an arse of himself.

He could eat. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but, then again, he never was.

He opened the rusty fridge that needed some duct tape to hold the door closed and peeked inside. There were several leftovers from the diner in various stages of decomposition from the banal – “Don’t eat that”11 to “I wouldn’t be caught dead prodding that with a stick.” He thought about throwing them all away. _He should do that, shouldn’t he?_

Then there was block of old cheese that must have come with the apartment or the fridge itself. Crowely remembered it had been there ever since he had moved in.

And then, to his sheer disgust, he spotted something that looked like greens on the top shelf. _Was that…salad? Ew._

Next to the offending vegetables there was a container with a lid and a post IT on top.

The post IT read: ‘Eat this, you degenerate knob.’

It had a smiley face on it and, because Bea couldn’t help being Bea, a rather stylised drawing of a particular piece of anatomy so as to graphically illustrate the knob part.

He took the container out and tried sticking the duct tape back again. It needed changing soon.

Once sat down at the small fit-for-one if that one was a five-year-old table he peered suspiciously at the contents. It was soup and had the occasional piece of chicken pop up as he prodded it with a fork that he had found in one of the empty take away boxes on the floor next to the table. It looked…healthy.

He put the lid back on and opened the fridge again to place it back. He really should be throwing all of those half-consumed burgers away. And change the strip of duct tape.

He did neither but he started scouting for what he believed was the last cup of instant noodles in Bea’s pantry12. He knew he had spotted one of those dratted things somewhere. Probably expired but it was all plastic anyway so expiration dates were more of a guideline, really.

_Aha! There it was, the bugger._

He put it under the coffee machine and waited for the water to heat up. Not the most conventional way of preparing noodles but then again nothing around this household was.

And then, noodles in hand, headed for the couch yet again.

He could feel the presence of the phone looming over him like a spectre and it didn’t take long to give up on his previously made resolution to just leave it be so he unlocked the screen only to be met with a couple of messages.

**[12:46]** Now, about that story of yours. You said that there is a whole universe and I cannot wait to hear more about it. That is why I contacted you, in the first place. And I don’t believe that someone with your imagination is either whatever you referred to yourself earlier or needs to apologise for everything like that. I stand by my previous statement that I do believe you are quite a lovely human being even if perhaps not the most articulate when called at 1am.

Crowley smiled stupidly at his phone.

**[12:54]** I would really like to find out more about how the magic works in your fictional universe. I understand the book that writes itself as the characters dive into the story but is that a common occurrence? Is it cursed? Do wizards and witches still exist in the main story or only in the pages of the magical book?

Aziraphale had frowned when he had received this person’s last text. _This would not do_. It had the same defeatist attitude that the message on the forum had about him deleting his work. He would try his best to remedy that. He still didn’t know what to call him. And even if Starlight had been perfectly acceptable for slightly buzzed 1am him13, it was not something he could actually call him during the day time.

He had developed an image of what this person would look like even if it would be hazy at the edges. He would probably look absolutely ethereal. Probably fair and with a prize-winning smile. Something out of a Renaissance painting. _A Botticelli, maybe?_ And that voice did nothing to help Aziraphale out of not developing the mother and father of all crushes. On a stranger. On a stranger he had never set eyes on. And who typed like that. He had his standards and yet here this person was, abysmal spelling and less then coherent sentences over the phone, and somehow he met all of them.

**[13:15]** its spoilers that

 **[13:16]** but there are a lot of other wizards and witches yea. theres another story I posted on sm other forum with that

 **[13:16]** its lik this whole thing with a tower where they learn magic and this big war up in heaven

 **[13:17]** well whatv passes for heavn there. the gods plan on betraying each other and use the wizards as pawns

 **[13:17]** i can ssend you the link if you want

Aziraphale very much wanted him to send the link and after having received it he copied it on a piece of paper and then started typing it in on his computer.

And yes, there was indeed a story about a tower and powerful wizards and vengeful gods. He would read it as soon as he could but, for the time being, he wanted to continue messaging this person. Which was inherently odd as he never postponed reading for anything, least of all for mindless socialising.

He had just started composing his next text when Gabriel called.

Looking down at his phone in frustration as he couldn’t continue typing until the call went to voicemail he stared at the name on the screen as if his expression alone could burn a hole into the device itself.

He had had a perfect day so far. He had woken up bright and early, managed to do some inventory before the café across the street opened and then went there for a croissant and a a cup of hot cocoa but left with a couple of muffins instead. Lemon drizzle and today’s special, apparently. _Totally on the house_ – Ally, the young lady tending the till told him. Whenever Paul – their in-house pattiseur – ever did any experiments, he always relied on Aziraphale’s personal seal of approval before even thinking about actually selling those particular sweets. It was just how things were done. The muffins had been extraordinary and the cocoa was somehow a bit different. Had a bit of nutmeg and ginger in it. It was good different. He then closed shop and enjoyed the sweets and the drink while re reading a volume of Mary Shelley that he had just found hidden away on the back of a shelf. It was shaping up to be a perfect day.

And then the mystery stranger had sent him a message. And that right there was the highlight of his day thus far. Which was a rather intriguing thing to realise. He would investigate it at a later date.

And then he continued to write, which soon became the new highlight of the day. He even… _was that flirting?_ No, he shouldn’t let his mind go there. He was perfectly content without any of these sorts of complications in his life. But the messages continued and were nice and safe now.

And now Gabriel was calling. He always could ruin a perfect day. No. _No_. He shouldn’t think about it like that. Gabriel was family. _He should try being more understanding_ , one of the voices inside his head tried to reason with him while the others supplied that _he was the pinnacle of understanding, thank you very much_ and then adjusted their metaphorical bow ties.

He wouldn’t let his cousin ruin today. He had a wonderful stranger to keep him on his toes. _And boy, did he do that._

Eventually the phone stopped ringing. The landline started ringing soon enough, but Aziraphale was already way too taken with his oncoming message for that to be an issue.

**[13:20]** I accessed the link. Should there be something more that I should be aware of going in?

**[13:21]** i mean like one of the main characters s a villain but i prob shouldn’t be telling you this anyway

**[13:23]** Ah, I see. I will keep that in mind as I read. See if I can guess who it is early on. That would prove most entertaining. And how has your day been so far?

**[13:23]** s fine.

 **[13:23]** could hav gone without the hangover but its fine

**[13:25]** Oh dear, have you eaten anything? Maybe take some Paracetamol?

**[13:26]** s fine angel

 **[13:26]** just your run of the mill sunday

_Oh great_ , Crowley thought. _Now he’s gonna assume you’re a raging alcoholic. Well done, you!_

_Why are you like this?_

**[13:28]** Oh, I do hope you are just jesting. I’d hate to think that you sport a headache every week.

Crowley fought his hardest not to type “ _at least 3 times a week_ ”.

**[13:33]** Alright then, I will leave you to tend to your aching head. And enjoy the rest of your weekend before the working week rolls over.

**[13:34]** am on a shift tnite so yea i should prob deal with the hangover

Aziraphale tried typing several different replies and all of them sounded far too personal for his liking. He wanted to know what this person was doing for a living. _Heavens_ , he wanted to know everything. But it felt like prying. _And he should try and keep the whole conversation about the writing, shouldn’t he?_

He actually needed to do some research for his own work. He knew that’s why Gabriel was calling in the first place.

He was behind on his last chapter. Somehow nothing seemed to click. The facts were all there. He had read and reread every book he could get his hands on dealing with the War of the Roses. Had researched every internet article he came across. All of his other books had been an instant bestseller without needing all of this research. He knew his history well enough, but something just didn’t click. It felt too pretentious. Too forced. Too history book turned into literature. He couldn’t relate to any of the characters since, frankly, they were all horrible people.

So he would take another day off his own writings and read Starlight’s work instead.

**[13:42]** I will start reading your work as soon as possible. Do try to eat something and make sure you are properly hydrated. And I will message you later, dear.

_Was that too personal? Too friendly bordering on possessive?_ Oh well, it was out of his hands now.

He put his phone down and began reading.

Crowley smiled stupidly at his phone for a bit. _He seemed to be doing that a lot lately, didn’t he?_

He needed to do some shopping for essentials and he knew that Bea would be dead to the world for the next couple of hours since they had gone to sleep at six in the morning or something. Weekends were always the busiest when it came to selling heart problems in a wrapper. People didn’t exactly make the smartest decisions when it concerned proper cuisine at 4am on a Sunday morning and even less so if it was after “visiting the clubs”.

They were surely going to sleep until late afternoon. And since the angel had just told him that he would start reading that behemoth of a story he had nothing else better to do than keep busy.

So he grabbed whatever discarded clothes he saw on the clothes chair14 and stepped outside wandering about till he reached the nearest Tesco.

They needed soap and toilet paper and Crowley even went ahead and bought some of those doughnuts that Bea secretly loved but would be caught dead admitting to that. And there were other stuff like bread and milk and – ew – soy milk because Bea was trying a thing. And some mozzarella because he was doing pasta night soon. That cost him two days’ worth of tips. It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do with that money. And then there was the bottle of rum which also cost a small fortune and, of course, cigarettes. And back home he went. Well, back on Bea’s couch.

At the same time in London Soho one particular angel was reading to his heart’s content.

_“[…] was by no means a large city, almost small enough to mockingly be called a quaint little town by its many merchant visitors, much to the citizens’ dismay. But what it lacked in size, it more than made up in bustle as it stood at the crossroads between more than ten commercial routes._

_Common metals from the east, all the way from the far ends of the continent found their way here only to be shipped far across the sea to Lands unheard of. Silver from the elven forests and gold from the crests of the mountaintops found their way to their harbours and were evenly distributed across the Land. Grain and flax and barley from the centre itself gathered in the double decked hauls of the caracks that lined up on the docks. Furs from the mountains and ore from the dwarfmines, dried fish gathered and prepared all around their own lands and water crystals by the hundreds came and went. Cinnamon and saffron and frankincense from the lands up North across the sea and spices almost unheard of with pigments of the brightest colours reached its port from the isles in the West._

_And, for their part, the people here took a bit of them all and combined them to great effect. Some of the brightest and smoothest rolls of silk came from here with amazingly sharp colouring, golden threads and fine embroidery. The teas that were gathered from all around were mixed together and sold anew as mysterious blends that much of the nobility preferred. The dried fish was doused with foreign spices and sold again at twice the price._

_The bakeries in the city also profited from this melting pot of clashing cultures and goods. Fresh cereals, fruits and spices to your liking were something very rare to be had in the same place and at the same time and, even though they quite perishable on the long run, the stalls that operated on the docks and in the market always gathered a small crowd, be it morning noon or night._

_The docks themselves were especially hard to navigate through today as two gigantic caracks both arrived to harbour in the early hours of the morning._

Aziraphale kept on reading imagining this magic realm in all of its minute details. But this wasn’t even the stranger's best, although he admitted that he was entranced by the scenery. His best was building characters and making them believable.

He realised that he needed this man to chip in on his own piece of prose. His characters always sounded like something out of a history book. _Well, because they always were_ , him writing historical fiction to begin with. But all of their motivations were political, religious or maybe “they just did it, what the hell”. None of them ever did stuff because they truly desired to do stuff. Maybe have an extra goblet of wine at the dinner table15. Maybe say no to the roasted pig. Maybe…maybe anything that made the characters act like normal people with normal interests and habits and opinions. Much like this young witch was. There was no reason for her to go to the market and there was no reason for her to pick the food she picked other than make you think about who she was as a person.

_[…] She got a few nods of recognition before she remembered herself and enchanted her appearance yet again. She went for the simple and common features that any dock urchin would posses. Sandy hair, tanned face with a bit of sunburn on the nose and shoulders and the odd freckle here and there, patched and almost threadbare clothes and, last but not least, bare feet. She would not be caught dead with bare feet down by the docks, today sporting a pair of knee length boots that she’d have to hose down twice or more once she reached home. She squirmed a bit even with thick leather boots on as her soles touched mud and dock water (for want of a better word) and drunk sailors’ mess – spilt drink and all, not to mention the fish guts and sticky sand. But there was no urchin around to afford shoes, so up the glamour went._

_She crossed the docks quick enough, or at least quick enough for how tightly packed it was and made a mental note to take the long way back home and avoid the bustle altogether._

_The marketplace too was crowded to the brim but at least here she could only hear business being handled as the roars of laughter and singsong remained with the by-now belching sailors back in the harbour._

_She hurried through colourful stalls dodging this way or the other as other shoppers nearly bumped into her until she reached the spice market._

_She’d get nutmeg and cumin and dried coconut and saffron. By Gods had she missed saffron. The two previous caravels sailing from up North had not been so lucky as the ship that had docked today._

_She drew near the saffron stall she usually visited only to be greeted by a scene._

_Two angry customers were yelling and waving their hands about. She quickly realised the reason behind the commotion as the plaque on top of the saffron shelf proudly announced fifty shivs instead of the regular thirty that everyone had grown accustomed to in the last year or so._

_Still, one of them was waving his hands so much she half expected him to topple the stall over altogether. She was having none of that. She would have her saffron, Gods be damned, if it was the last thing she did. So she glanced around the other shops for something hard enough to hurl at the two. She found what she was looking for quick enough in the form of candied pears that a nearby seller was proudly presenting to any passers-by, displayed neatly on a tray strapped around his neck and shoulders. With a swift movement of her wrist a single pear shot through the air and circled the men only to hit the taller one who was making the bigger fuss straight across the jaw._

_‘Hey, who threw that?’ he circled around himself with narrowed eyes that landed to the seller to his right and was on his way to go holler at him. Except the blow came from his left. So, he motioned the other man and, with large determined steps went to investigate._

_She smiled to herself as she approached the stall and stopped right in front of it as she waited for the merchant to fuss over whatever the two had managed to knock over._

_Only when he was done with all the rearranging did he notice a couple of bare feet right in front of him. Right in front of the satchels of saffron, no less. He felt a pang of guilt as he knew he couldn’t afford to just give away such a precious commodity. He always went out of his way to give whatever little extra he had to the beggars and orphans roaming about but this time he would be near ruined if he didn’t pay his creditors after the two lost shipments._

_So, with a sorrowful expression on his face, his gaze travelled up only to meet two seemingly innocent mismatched eyes and a smirk he could definitely put a name to at any time of day._

_‘Oh, if it isn’t milady, as I live and breathe. Thought you forgot about poor old me. Haven’t seen you in ages, I have.’_

_She laughed in earnest and he could see for the briefest of seconds her disguise slipping away at the edges – yellow unkempt tufts of hair giving way to perfect midnight tresses. The few market goers who were not completely engrossed in the arduous process known as haggling on prices merely dismissed it as a trick of the light, but he knew better than that. He’d known her from back when she was a little older than seven. She used to slip a lot more back then, children being renowned for their almost nonexistent focus._

_‘No, but really, why strangers for so long?’_

_‘I learned about the boats from father.’ Being the Lord’s daughter did have its perks, after all. ‘At the first one I threw a bit of a temper tantrum even if I say so myself. Refused to come to the market altogether. The second time around all I could think about was how badly it impacted you money-wise and honestly, I couldn’t handle it. Kept thinking I would come into market and find your shop closed. It was only yesterday that I heard one of the maids from the kitchen, speaking animatedly to the other girls about the wonderful things she found at your shop and well, with today’s shipment coming in, I just couldn’t stay away any longer. But how are you faring? How is business going?’_

_‘It has been taxing, I have to admit. I get a bit startled sometimes when things go bump in the night, heh, you know how creditors can be,’ his attempt at an ill-fated joke flew right over her head._

_‘Are you sure you’re alright? You could have said, could have sent word, you know my door is always open,’ she gently squeezed his shoulder with sympathy._

_‘I’m sure things will get back to normal soon enough, no need to fuss, milady,’ he supplied with a warm smile._

_She glanced at the plaque announcing fifty shivs per satchel and somehow seriously doubted it. She loved the damn thing and had the means to procure it but, for most of the city, even thirty shivs was a luxury few could afford. She was going to spend more than she previously envisioned leaving home. She knew herself well enough. She sighed._

Aziraphale kept on reading and realised he was more enthralled about this character that he didn’t even know about doing her chores than he was about his own very real ones that went to war and usurped thrones and did quite a number of rather interesting things. None of which was just randomly stroll in a market. And yet…

_[…] So, money was not the issue, it never had been. And to think she had helped her friend pay off his creditors and ensure the welfare of his family made her almost forget what an ungodly amount of coin she had spent._

_She had ended up buying more than half of his supply of saffron, a couple of bags of cinnamon, a bag of cumin, three bags of dried coconut and more than a dozen packs of his sweet blended teas._

_When she exited the shop proper, her disguise was already in place. He gave her a nod and an assurance that his door was always open, no matter the occasion if she ever was in the neighbourhood._

_She still had to pick up some swordfish for dinner, she remembered her mother’s request to the servants and some of that spiced chocolate she knew her father would just die for that no one in the family could properly stomach without drowning it with a jug of milk._

_She was making mental notes about what else was there for her to purchase when she spotted the candied pear vendor from earlier and felt a pang of guilt for semi-stealing his produce for hurling-around-purposes. She decided to ease her guilt by buying her brothers a treat. Although her youngest had been a bit of a shit she just couldn’t stay mad at him. So she made her way towards the vendor and asked him for three candied pears. They smelled so good she would be damned if she didn’t get in on the sweetness._

_She was met with an incredulous look that bordered on scorn. Oh, right, she realised looking down on her appearance. She looked more like a beggar than anything else. He probably thought she was a freeloader._

_‘Oh, it’s not like that!’ she assured him stumbling over her money purse. ‘I have money, I can pay!’_

_His expression nearly screamed ‘Who did you steal it from?’ but he left it at that, especially since she paid the price of four pears for only three. That was street urchins for you, daft the lot of them – couldn’t even count proper. But who was he to judge where money came from in the first place, especially if it stood in the way of good business so, moral qualms long forgotten, he wrapped three pears in brown paper and nodded at her dismissively._

Aziraphale tried his hardest not to devour the latter chapters in the next hour but he could not help himself. He needed to instil some of this life into his own characters. He needed to continue talking to this stranger. So he left his computer be for the moment and went in search of his phone instead.

In the meantime he had made acquaintance of the girl’s whole family and now it all made sense. The strut down the markets, the personal motivations of each and every one of them, the intrigue. He was absolutely hooked. Not to mention the awful religious beliefs mentioned in the chapter with the temples. And those sacrifices...it all was too well-orchestrated to be a mere coincidence.

**[16:11]** Is it the God of Death?

**[16:12]** the fuck angel how much did you read?

**[16:14]** Just the first three chapters. I do like your main character a lot. And I repeat my question: is it the God of Death?

**[16:14]** how the fuck did you figre that out in 3 chapts???

**[16:17]** I dabble in writing myself and the motivations were all there. So I gather I was right. Do I get a prize?

_whatever you want angel_ – was quickly erased from the text messages.

**[16:20]** i mean you could always call and bug me with yr impecable english

**[16:21]** You truly are a menace.

**[16:21]** i aim to please

Aziraphale hummed to himself as the doorbell rang.

The people who were supposed to do the catering at the next book signing had said they would arrive on this particular afternoon with samples of whatever he had picked up from the menu.

_That would do just nicely._

_It had been a while since he had had a proper dessert_ , he thought, as Gabriel’s words still made him uncomfortable around anything that had even the vaguest semblance of sugar around it. But he was alone right now. _And he deserved a treat_. He hadn’t had one in more than a week.

So he got up from his desk and opened the door, instructing the caterers on where to best place the samples for his next event.

When they were all gone he went to inspect the lot of them and, honestly, no one could blame him if he had a little nibble, now could they? Just to make sure that everything was in perfect working order.

He sat back down and picked something up from a plateau of petits fours.

And then the phone rang.

He sucked the cream off one of his fingers and tapped the screen without even looking.

He had no password on his phone. Never had. And if it were to be Gabriel he would blame customers soon enough and be done with it.

_It wasn’t Gabriel, though._

‘Um…hi.’

‘And how are you, my dear?’ Aziraphale said as he hummed happily thinking about the fours.

‘Perfect. Top notch. Just super.’

‘You needen’t jest like that. It is just pleasant to hear your voice, that is all.’

‘Uhm…yeah…that. Same, angel.’

'I actually like your voice very much, dear.'

And then something happened that made all of the poor excuses of an apparent electrical wiring in Crowley’s brain absolutely short circuit. Especially the bits kept together with dried chewing gum and knotted twine.

The angel moaned the moaniest moans in the history of moany moans.

It was as if someone took _THAT_ scene from “When Harry met Sally” and thought to turn the dials up on it.

_Oh._

_Oh fuck._

He was so massively and royally screwed and frankly not in the way that he envisioned it happening that he was at a loss of words. Not that he was particularly eloquent the rest of the time. Or that he envisioned anyone actually fucking him. Especially not a particular angel who was too prim and proper not to be into some serious kinks. And especially not an angel that he had fantasised about. _No no. Never that._

His usual choice of combining consonants was the only possible response he could come up with at this particular moment.

Maybe it was Bea's constant mention of shagging. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't had a good lay in a while. Maybe it was the stranger's soft and comforting voice. It definitely was that moan, of that everyone could be certain. Or maybe it was the fact that the only brain cell he had left that he hadn't managed to drown in alcohol or stun with weed had decided to take a break at the moment. 

When thinking about it later he would have a hard time deciding which of those it was that made him do one of the stupidest things he had done in his life. And there was absolutely no shortage of that.

The angel hummed some more and then went at it again and this time Crowley could not help himself but let his hand wander downwards from the place it had found over his mouth to stifle a shocked gasp to down his throat, tracing the tips of his fingers down his Adam’s apple and then his collarbones with reverence as he imagined a different set of hands altogether doing just that. Then further down still, unbuttoning all of his shirt buttons and taking the time to do so.

This was definitely not what he had signed up for but, on the other hand, it had been a while. And that voice…oh, for Satan’s sake, that voice…

It was not like they would meet anyway.

Maybe he could have this even if this all read more like DM’s on other hem hem…particular sites rather than text messages on literature.

But it wasn’t like what he was writing was actual literature to begin with.

And he couldn’t expect this person to believe that it was.

A wank with someone on the other end of the line was something that he hadn’t done in a while.

 _Why not do it now?_ the definitely not present brain cell supplied.

That voice was doing funny stuff to him either way.

He had no idea how the angel at the other end had arrived to this particular conclusion but he wasn’t averse to it and he never thought about actually questioning him for fear that it would all stop.

He glanced at the time on his phone.

**16:53**

Bea would be asleep for the next hour for sure. Not that they didn’t make fun of him and his dabbling in internet dating and everything it entailed anyway.

He pressed the mute button on the phone and started fiddling with his belt buckle.

He had never liked people hearing him act out in the throes of passion. And this would not be a first.

Not like he planned on actually being very vocal with Bea in the other room. He would never live that down.

So he tried his best to shimmy out of his tight jeans and take a hold of the issue, as it were, while keeping the phone on the backrest very close to his ear.

It was three minutes and an almost climax later that he heard the voice on the other end say something that he had no idea how to react to.

‘Mhhhmmm, my dear, I just got so caught up with these, I am so sorry, I completely forgot about the phone. Oh, and I probably shouldn't even indulge in all of these heavenly treats either. It is very inadequate doing it on my own.’

Crowley unmuted the phone.

‘Inadequate,’ he whispered as he continued doing what he most definitely shouldn’t continue while being a guest on a friends’couch. And on the phone with a complete stranger.

‘Oh, definitely. One might even say debauched.’

‘Mhm.’

‘I think I almost got to finish all of these small treats for the event myself.’

‘You…WOT?’

‘Um…there is this event that I am invited to and the caterers brought some samples around. Why, what were you thinking that -’

‘I need to leave. Now.’

‘But, my dear boy, we were just talking about…’

‘Work shift. Bye.’

The sound of static rang in both of their ears.

_Oh fuck._

_Fuckity fuck._

This was bad.

9That doesn’t mean he actually succeed.

10He remembered reading some article debunking that shit.

11Which honestly was what defined the burgers even when they were fresh. Or what someone would have deemed fresh had they never researched the actual meaning of the word.

12To be read as the most crowded and full of surprises cupboard ever known to man. If there ever was an entrance to Narnia then that cupboard was most definitely it.

13He really needed to stop pillaging his wine reserves on a daily basis.

14So aptly named for being a host to most of their collective wardrobes.

15At least not unless he read about them enjoying the wine a little bit too much in one of his history books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are they both head over heels for each other even before they meet?  
> Yes.  
> Are they going to do anything about it?  
> Absolutely not.
> 
> What do you think this is, amateur hour?


	5. ...our two princes...

Well… _that was certainly odd._

But he had said that he had an evening shift after all.

On the other hand, he had been the one to call in the first place. So if he knew that he was supposed to start his shift soon why did he even bother?

It was just…odd.

Aziraphale didn’t get to ponder for long as his phone rang yet again and he immediately answered.

‘I hope you haven’t forgotten about our dinner plans,’ he could hear at the other end and he frankly felt something like disappointment if he would have been brave enough to admit it.

‘Hello, dear girl.’

‘Don’t dear girl me. I just called to make sure I wouldn’t come over only to sit around for an hour because you went to a book fair and forgot your phone at home. Like last time, ahem.’

‘I did apologise. Profusely.’

‘You did. So? Are you home?’

‘Yes. Yes I am. In fact I have received a rather large order of nibbles for the next book signing. You could join me in trying them out.’

‘Has something happened?’

‘What could possibly have happened?’

‘Hmm. Not sure. I’ll be there in thirty.’

‘Mind how you go, my dear.’

‘I would most definitely know if I were to get hit by a car or anything like that. See you soon.’

Crowley started circling the flat or at least moving in a Brownian pattern in the areas that permitted circulation that were not covered in empty pizza boxes, dirty clothes, beer cans or other miscellaneous objects that found themselves on the floor.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUUUUUUUUCK!!!!_

This was definitely not good.

This was the absolute fucking worst. The only reason he didn’t prowl the apartment with a raging hard on was the fact that his dick had apparently more manners than he did and understood the mortifying ordeal of what had just happened and decided that happy endings of any kind were not on the programme today.

How could he do that? How in Satan’s name did he think that it was – never mind a good idea, because it was definitely not – but even a not completely terrible one?

He threw himself on the sofa and cradled his head in between his knees for a while.

He blamed Bea for all of their weird ideas.

_No._

He blamed the angel for that divine voice and those sinful sounds.

_No._

He stared at his crotch with the same expression he threw Frank on one of his bad days.

But he knew that he would be itchy and his skin would feel like it’s too tight all evening if he didn’t do anything about it.

So he decided a shower was in order.

Nice shower should fix everything, right?

 _Well, maybe not the voices in his head_ , but there was nothing short of throwing himself off a cliff that would fix those.

He decided that was the best course of action and stepped inside the cramped bathroom disrobing as he closed and locked the door and managing to bump his knee on the toilet and his elbow on the sink16

He would probably get his clothes wet, he pondered as he placed them all in the sink17, but he didn’t much care right now.

He stepped under the shower and turned the faucet on only flinching a bit when the cold spray hit him. It would take forever for the water to heat up and, even when it did, it didn’t last a for a long time.

As if summoned by the gods of eternally cold showers, Bea woke up and started banging on the bathroom door.

‘If you finish all the hot water I swear that I will tear you apart limb by limb and then bathe in your blood.’

‘Charming as always,’ he yelled back over the noise of the water running.

‘I mean it. I didn’t get a chance to shower this morning and I smell all greasy. Dagon’s gonna pop by later. I will kill a man for that shower.’

‘I’m not. Promise,’ he yelled at the door and bowed his head under the frigid stream of water thinking that he could not take a shower that was any less than glacial in the foreseeable future.

He stepped outside the bathroom twenty minutes later under Bea’s murderous glance but he could not be bothered.

He couldn’t be bothered by anything at the moment, really.

He had gone and done it.

All he had wanted for months on end had been for someone else to talk about stories with him. To actually tell him they were good and worth pursuing. To tell him he wasn’t completely delusional in wanting to do this.

And it had happened. So why in Satan’s name did he go and bollocks it up for a sad wank on Bea’s couch?

_Was he that pathetic that a warm voice and some kind words could have this effect on him?_

Apparently.

_Fucking useless wanker._

He avoided Bea’s gaze and got dressed as fast as he could and in as many layers as he could.

Even if the cold shower solved his immediate problem it still wasn’t the smartest of ideas to bathe in ice cold water in the middle of fucking December, especially if he planned to go outside soon after.

‘Something happened,’ Bea stated more than asked as they sat in the middle of the couch, arms crossed.

‘Nothing’s happened.’

‘Yeah, right. So. What happened?’

‘I told you. Nothing.’

‘Duck.’

‘Don’t duck me, Bee. Nothing’s happened. Want me to grab something to eat on the way back?’

‘Nah. I’m good. There’s probably soup in the fridge anyway.’

‘Myeah.’

‘You utter wanker. That was supposed to be for you. Should have known, really.’

‘It looked healthy.’

‘That was the point, you knob.’

‘There’s like salad and other unspeakable stuff there too.’

This got him a flip flop directly to the back of the head. It was pink and sparkly and it was actually his to begin with. A gift from Dana, that utter bitch.

He flinched slightly but that was the only reaction he had and that was a big trigger alarm for Bea. Usually he would snarl and hiss and swear at such treatment.

He did none of that.

‘Duck?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Comm’ere.’

He turned back from where he was fiddling with one of his boots so as to face them. He put the boot on and approached the couch.

Bea took one of his hands in between their palms and gave it a light squeeze.

‘You would tell me if anything was wrong, yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Good. Now off you go. Make sure people narrow their life expectancy.’

‘You are horrid.’

‘I try. And pray to whatever gods you believe in that there’s some more hot water for me to take a shower. I was not kidding earlier.’

He managed his best chuckle.

They had categorised that chuckle as his “I did something monumentally stupid but am too embarrassed to admit it” chuckle. They’d steal his phone later and have a look.

‘Bye, Bee. Do try not to go at it on the couch.’

‘No promises there,’ they pulled their tongue out at him and threw another flip flop that only met the door as it was closing.

Then they went into the bedroom looking for their own phone and made a call to the diner.

‘Hey boss!’ came a chirrupy voice on the other end.

‘Yeah, whatevs. Listen Eric, I need you to keep an eye on Crowley tonight. He’s not…I dunno. He’s not acting like himself. Can you do that for me?’

‘Sure thing, boss. Whatever you say!’

‘Yeah. Sure. Cheers, Eric.’

‘My name’s not -’ they could hear on the other end but they ended the call and prepared for a shower that Crowley should better hope would be hot.

Aziraphale was still reading when the bell atop the door started ringing.

His options were limited. No, actually, his options were two. Eat all of the petits fours or keep on reading the story. The third option which was worry over what he had done wrong while on the phone didn’t even bear thinking about. So no, that was not an actual option to begin with.

And, ever since he promised Anathema to share the fours, reading it was.

_Imagine a place of eternal summer. Ethereal even. Spanning as wide as the eyes could see. This field in the middle of nowhere surrounded by mountains on all sides. No mater the snows up North or the tempests by the sea, or the fire and brimstone to the East. No matter the hail, the rains, the wind, the scorching heat of the deserts or the sheer sheats of ice. This place stood perfectly stilled in time amongst it all. The scenery was lush with nature, the trees were all in full bloom no matter the warm weather. There were birds chirping all around and squirrels and deer and the like. It was something out of a fairy tale, if you believed in such things._

**[19:21]** I am just writing to tell you that I reached chapter five and it is more than I signed up for when first commenting on your works. It is sublime. You said there was a whole series. Are there more works already posted?

 **[19:23]** Look at me pestering you about other works when I haven’t even finished this one. I will promise to abstain in the future.

 **[19:25]** But I do enjoy it immensely.

_And in the middle of the never ending fields stood a Tower. As tall and bright as the skies themselves. A nearly impossible construction made entirely out of spun glass. Or was it mirrors, the young woman currently staring at it, mouth agape, asked herself. How else could it reflect the light just so? It shouldn’t exist; it shouldn’t stand so prim and proper and tall in the middle of a Godforsaken field. How did they manage to built something like this in a land devoid of any natural resources? She had seen plenty of buildings even in her young age. Plenty of Palaces even, being paraded around like a glorified mare. But never something even beginning to resemble this. There was bustle around, and lots of it and, at the base of said Tower, a lot of winding pavilions carved out of marble and adorned with stained glass sprawled for quite a distance. But this was something she’d acknowledge later, for now her gaze never leaving the impossible structure._

**[19:37]** Is it the older wizards who are drawing the cards? Are they in league with the main villain?

_The Tower gleamed above them being everything and nothing at the same time. Sure, it was impossible, magnificent, unbearable – but it felt like this is where he belonged. And that, in his books, was more than enough to make up for it._

**[19:53]** I think I like this new character. Should I? I think I probably should. He seems like someone I should like. He is liked by elves and not many people are liked by elves, as I think you already know.

‘Hey there, up for our weekly thing?’ Anathema called out from the doorway.

Aziraphale sighed. _Might as well stop_. There was no reply to any of his messages. He surely did something that bothered the stranger.

‘Hello, my dear! Come inside and lock the door please. I thought it was Gabriel for a second there.’

‘What does that dickwad want?’

‘Now now, no need for that kind of language. It’s just…he telephoned me today. And I failed to answer.’

‘So?’

‘Well, it wasn’t very proper of me, was it?’

‘So why did you do it?’

‘What was that dear?’

‘Why did you do it? You always make that bastard feel like he’s the centre of the fucking universe. Why not now?’

‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’

‘Aziraphale.’

‘Yes, my dear?’

‘Something happened.’

‘Petit four?’

‘No…’

‘Oh, I have some crumpets in the kitchen!’

‘Aziraphale.’

‘Yes?’

‘Spill it. What happened?’

‘I…um…nothing happened.’

‘Alright. But I want tea. And I will read your future in the tea leaves.’

Aziraphale rolled his eyes in such an obvious manner that no one could miss it, least of all Anathema.

‘I know you don’t believe in that stuff but humour me, yes?’

‘Yes, my dear. Of course.’

Crowley reached the diner in a daze.

‘Hiyah, boss,’ someone intoned from behind the counter.

Crowley lifted his eyes from his phone and saw the same cheery face he saw every night.

‘Hi, Eric.’

‘My name’s not -’ he was dismissed with a wave of his hand.

The angel had written. Several times actually.

_Fuck._

How was he ever to talk to him again?

He wanted to. He wanted that desperately. But he had done and fucked that up to no avail with his latest prize-winning performance.

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

**[19:53]** I think I like this new character. Should I? I think I probably should. He seems like someone I should like. He is liked by elves and not many people are liked by elves, as I think you already know.

_You probably shouldn’t_ \- he wanted to write. That’s basically me. A better version of, at least.

_And no one should like me, should they?_

There was a tap on the glass. And then another and then a litany of swears and some other loud knocks and then Eric appeared and took the customers’ order in and prepared the burgers all while throwing Crowley weird glances.

He should probably mind the till right now. He didn’t want to do that. He wanted to crawl under a rock and die there.

He would probably not be left to rest there either, not by judging the latest years.

Eric threw him another Look and then proceeded in pushing him aside, minding the till as well while he stared at his phone.

Aziraphale managed to sneak in another text as Anathema was squinting at the tea leaves on the bottom of his cup.

They were well into the second bottle of wine since he had point blank told her that were they to pursue such occupations he would need some hard liquor in his system.

They went for a nice Shiraz instead.18

‘Oh, Aziraphale, this is quite saucy indeed.’

‘Oh shush, you menace. Next thing I know you’ll be telling me that I’ll meet someone tall dark and handsome or some other bloody nonsense like that.’

‘Well, actually -’

‘Never you mind. Isn’t it enough that I have more crystals around then a Geology museum?’ he huffed some more and continued typing.

**[21:24]** I felt bad about him having to steal the apples. It is completely understandable, of course, it just makes for such a sad back story. I nearly shed a tear about him losing his father’s robes. Such a horrible thing to happen to the only posession he still had from his parents. And the burns on his fingers…you write tragedy so effortlessly.

Crowley snorted at his phone screen.

Eric19 threw him another murderous glance and tried doing his best to manage cooking while also tending to the customers. If he would have been employed for more than a month he would have definitely called Bea up and complained about Crowley’s bullshit. But he wasn’t. And he didn’t want to appear like a whiny little tattle tale in front of the Big Boss. Not to mention that Crowley was their friend and that he was scared shitless where Bea was concerned.

_Ofc I do, angle I am tragic case numero uno –_

He typed and then deleted the message.

_If you like that boy r u gonna like to hear –_

He pressed delete, again.

_I mean, dead folks and all. What a hoot –_

What the fuck was wrong with him, seriously?

‘Boss?’

‘Mhm?’

‘Boss?’

‘Yeah, Eric?’

He could swear he saw the cook roll his eyes but he had absolutely no idea why.

‘I think it’s best if you went back home. It’s obvious you’re not at your best right now.’

 _Or any other time_ , if Not-Eric was to be believed. But since no one asked Not-Eric anything – hell, _didn’t even know his name to begin with_ – he kept his thoughts to himself.

‘Are you sure? You can’t both man the till and the fryer,’ Crowley tried on a tone that suggested he needed to go through the motions so as not to appear too eager to leave the diner.

Not-Eric wanted to point out that he had done that for the past two hours regardless but thought some more about it and then just shook his head instead.

‘It’s cool, boss. It’s a lazy Monday anyway. You do your thing.’

Crowley bowed his head and was off before Eric could say anything in protest. He liked Eric tonight. He was far more understanding than he usually was.

Aziraphale was staring at his phone and even pouting a little as no new notification appeared.

Anathema was actually saying something but he wasn’t paying it that much attention.

He knew that to be rude but he couldn’t help it.

_Why didn’t the stranger respond?_

_Did he insult him somehow?_

Anathema snapped her fingers at him a couple of times and he tried to pay attention to what was happening even if his heart wasn’t in it.

Bea looked up from the TV that was playing some random monster-of-the-week nonsense on a show that they had probably binged at some point but Crowley couldn’t focus enough to actually recognise what it was.

‘What’s up, duck?’

‘Fuck you, Bee.’

They knew that always got a not very safe for work remark out of it and therefore did it every time they got the chance.

‘No, but seriously, Eric called. He said you’re heading home.’

‘Didn’t feel like it tonight.’

‘Do you ever,’ they extended a hand and made grabby motions.

‘Wut?’

‘Phone. Now.’

‘You’re not my mum,’ he managed to say.

Neither of them further commented on his remark but he did extend the phone to them.

**[00:47]** yea you should like im. hes a good guy. romantic interest amterial even

‘Bee, for fuck’s sake!’

‘Anathema, dear girl!’

‘You were being stupid. As you generally are. He likes you. Write the fuck back. Oh…wait….I just did that, since you are absolutely fucking useless.’

‘Who’s this?’ Anathema got up and held the phone just a bit out of reach.

She was already taller than Aziraphale. Top that off with her high heels and sheer determination and you would have the perfect scenario with children bullied out of their lunch money.

Except Anathema loved him dearly and she did this for his own benefit.

‘Could it be “tall dark and handsome”?’

‘Nonsense. Now give it back!’

‘He’ll ask you out for coffee.’

‘He will do no such thing!’

‘He will. And if you say no I will be very cross.’

‘He will not. We are talking about fiction, that is all.’

‘Alright then,’ Anathema concluded and held the telephone tightly against her chest. ‘If it's just fiction so be it. It’s your bread and butter, after all. But if he asks you out for coffee you have to say yes.’

‘And why do I have to do that, my dear?’

‘Because you will have promised me to do it. Right now. I feel like this is important.’

Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

‘Okay, alright. I know you couldn’t give two shits about it but you do care about me. So. Say yes. If it sucks then so be it. Just a coffee break wasted, yes?’

‘Well, I suppose.’

‘And if not…an exquisite love story!’ she waved her arms about and for a second he feared that she would drop his phone.

‘That is if he even asks, in the first place.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ Anathema smiled a weird smile and inspected his teacup some more.

‘Duck. I will wake up tomorrow. Later than you, probably. Nah, scratch that. Definitely. And if I wake up and there isn’t at least a five minute long call to this guy I will beat you. Or, better yet, I’ll have Dagon beat you.’

Dana who was lying in bed at that particular moment tried her best to make any sense of the conversation.

‘What’s that?’

‘I said you’d beat Crowley up.’

‘Ah, right. Sure.’

There were a couple of more shuffles.

‘Why?’ came shortly after.

‘D’ya need a reason, babes?’

‘Fair enough. Tomorrow. Beatings. Now let me sleep.’

Bea looked at Crowley longer than he deemed necessary and much much longer than he felt comfortable about.

‘Alright, fine. I’ll call him. Now fuck off.’

They patted his head and were off to bed not before throwing him another suspicious glance.

Crowley went to sleep and, for all he knew mere seconds passed before the shrill sound of the alarm attacked his ears and very soul. He pondered over whether the best solution would be to smash the clock on the floor over and over, throw it against a wall, bide his time and actually drown the monstrosity or plain put it in the middle of the road and film how cars ran over it.

When the criminal thoughts towards digital clocks subsided he got out of bed.20

He looked at his phone for a long while.

Then he drew a deep breath and searched his contacts.

Then he gave up on the phone call almost immediately.

He did that for a number of times for the oncoming half hour.

Crowley had actually tried developing an extra set of balls or ten because he clearly needed them, even if it was on a metaphorical level and after circling the couch for far longer then necessary, he actually sat back down and called the angel.

‘Hello, my dear.’

Crowley bit his lip for a couple of seconds before he took a deep breath and just went with it.

‘Would you like to go for a coffee sometime?’

There was silence at the other end.

_Oh shit._

‘That was my friend messing around with my phone…?’

‘You do realise that only works over text.’

‘Myeah.’

 _Why was he like this?_ He had wanted to kill Bea for doing the same thing and yet here he was, doing the thing. At Bea’s behest, mind you.

‘I would love to go for coffee. Oh, and cake!’

‘NO!’ Crowley all but yelled into the mouthpiece.

‘I…um…I only thought…well, since you offered.’

‘I mean yes to the coffee. No to the food.’

Crowley really didn’t think he would be able to look the angel in the eye after yesterday’s happenings if he ever ate anything. He really didn’t think he could look him in the eye either way. But he couldn’t spend a second more just imagining the face associated with that soft voice. He certainly felt that he would spontaneously combust if he heard the angel moan like that on the opposite side of a table from him.

‘I…see…’

‘No, I mean…’

_What the hell could he come up with that would make the angel sound less sad about the whole thing?_

‘I mean that I don’t usually eat in front of other people.’

_Nice save._

‘Oh. Oh, dear. Yes, of course. I am dreadfully sorry.’

‘No biggie. Just whatever, you know.’

He wasn’t exactly lying _per se_. He didn’t eat much full stop. And this way he wouldn’t make the angel feel bad.

‘Do you have any place in mind? Because I do know this excellent café. And they make the most amazing macaroons. Oh, _right_. No eating.’

‘Wherever you want, angel. Just text me the address, yeah?’

‘Are we making plans?’

‘I think we are. Listen, if you think it forward of me or anything just forget it.’

‘Nothing of the sort. I have been meaning to make your acquaintance for a while now. Despite my earlier misgivings.’

‘What do I call you? Can’t just waltz in and yell “angel”. People might get the wrong impression.’

‘You can call me Aziraphale.’

‘Oh, wow. That’s one class A fantasy name. Pity I didn’t come up with that. It’s angel name material. You are very imaginative.’

‘That’s…um…that’s my name.’

‘Is it?’

There was a pause and he could swear that the person on the other end nodded.

_Oh fuck._

‘Sorry, angel. That was completely uncalled for and very rude. It’s a beautiful name. Befitting an angel, like I said. Just couldn’t believe the coincidence.’

‘Coincidence?’

‘Told you. Sounds angel-y. Is that a word?’

‘I assure you it is not.’

‘Anyway. Very fitting.’

‘It is actually the name of an angel.’

‘You’re kidding me right now?’

‘I am not in the habit of joking about my name.’

‘Right. Right. Course not.’

‘Anyway, my dear, what should I call you? If Angel is out of the question then Starlight definitely is.’

Crowley remembered the first time he heard that and fought back a shiver.

‘Crowley.’

‘Crowley?’

‘Anthony if you must. But I don’t much prefer it.’

‘Crowley it is then, dear boy. And how will I recognise you?’

‘I’ll be wearing sunglasses.’

‘Indoors?’

‘I always wear sunglasses.’

‘Isn’t that a bit…improper?’

‘Oh, _everything_ about me is improper, angel.’

_WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?_

Aziraphale could perfectly agree with that statement if the voice was anything to go by.

‘I will be wearing a bow tie.’

‘Are you a fan of the Doctor? Into cosplay or something?’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘Nobody wears a bloody bow tie in this day and age.’

Another pause.

Crowley was really both feet and probably an elbow deep in his mouth at the moment.

‘Well. I do.’

‘Of course you do.’

‘Listen, maybe this was a mistake. We don’t need to meet up.’

‘No! Angel, please. I will stop it with the snark and everything. I’m sorry. Do whatever you want, bow tie and all. Hell, you could even eat whatever your heart desires if you want, just don’t feel weird if I don’t.’

Crowley swore a bit under his breath and then kicked the nearest wall only to start hopping on the foot that hadn’t touched second base with said wall a few seconds ago.

He really should avoid seeing and more importantly hearing the angel eat anything. But he never wanted to deny him anything either. How was this a thing? How was he so far gone for someone he hadn’t even met?

Fortunately for him the person at the end of the line was every bit the gentleman.

‘No food, dear boy. Just coffee. Or, well, in my case, tea.’

‘Aaight.’

‘I will text you the address.’

‘See ya, angel.’

‘Aziraphale.’

‘Um…yeah. Aziraphale.’

‘Goodbye, my dear.’

\---

The fact that Bea instantly spotted that he was a bundle of nerves didn’t help. The fact that they commented on it repeatedly and even tried making fun of him once or twice was even worse but not entirely unexpected. It was the fact that they sat down on the couch and had him parade in front of them in all of the four attires he had deemed fit enough for this date that was the problem. No. Not date. Just a coffee. With a fellow writer. Bea even had competent advice which was something they never did, usually telling him to shag it out and be done with it. There was an eerie atmosphere around the whole thing.

He later found out from Dana21 that that was because Bea had placed a bet on him actually bedding the angel. Oh, and also because Bea thought that this might be it for him. But that was inconsequential.

They approved of his third outfit and chastised him for his fourth.

Good old Bea. _Bad old Bea?_

He was glad that he had the approval of at least another human being22 about his choice of clothing as he stepped inside the coffee shop.

He started inspecting the premises with a slightly raised eyebrow and his hands dug deeply inside his pockets to prevent them from trembling.

And then he spotted him.

He had absolutely no doubt about it.

He was clad in beige and light blues and he seemed…otherworldly. He could never call him “angel” again and not mean it completely.

He looked like he belonged in a Dickens novel.

And yet…

He had the softest tufts of hair Crowley had ever seen in his life.

Round cheeks and a slightly upturned nose. _Oh god_ , that cupid bow…

And then he lifted his eyes and laid them on him and…he smiled.

_Oh, Satan give him strength._

He probably had to relearn how to walk again after being the recipient of such…angelicness.

The angel would probably argue that that was not a word.

It didn’t matter.

Not when under the scrutiny of those shiny baby-blue eyes and that smile that could for sure launch a thousand ships, Helen be damned.

He tried a sly smirk and a casual wave and ended up on the complete other side. He probably looked constipated and very much like someone who hadn’t received the technical manual on how limbs worked.

And despite all of that he was granted an even wider smile as the angel got up to his feet and pointed at the empty seat at the table.

His eyes crinkled at the edges. And, oh god, that smile…

He feared he might need some proper CPR before the afternoon was over.

\---

Aziraphale had arrived early as he was prone to do. If only to look at the menu for longer than most people deemed necessary.

He had to admit that he was nervous.

That voice alone was something that had plagued both his daylight hours and his restless nights.

He had finished inspecting both the menu and the inside of the café and was now letting his eyes linger towards the door.

What was it that Anathema had said during that honest to god preposterous tea leaf reading that she had submitted him to? That he would meet someone –

_tall –_

He let his eyes wander from the stranger’s snakeskin boots, upwards noticing his long legs that seemed to never end but making a point not to stare for too long and then making another point to guide his gaze upwards still and not settle his eyes on certain areas.

_dark –_

The man was dressed all in black. There was nothing on his extraordinarily lithe body that wasn’t one shade of black or another.

And then his gaze ventured upwards still and landed on the man’s face.

‘Oh, good lord,’ he mumbled under his breath.

_and handsome._

Although that was putting it mildly.

No one had any right to look this good. Someone should lodge a complaint. Even if that someone would not be him. Or maybe it would be if he didn’t regain the capacity to speak in the next couple of minutes. And if he did not hyperventilate or whatever it was that his body felt like doing at the moment without having asked him for permission first.

He was as far from what he imagined as humanly possible and yet…oddly similar in an inexplicable way.

It was the hair. It had to be. The long wavy locks still screamed Botticelli in his mind. Not to mention the colour.

‘Hi,’ the stranger drawled as he draped himself on the chair in front of Aziraphale.

He swallowed but there was no getting rid of the lump in his throat.

‘Hello, my dear,’ he tried smiling in return.

16 Twice.

17 You could take a shower while sitting on the toilet and brush your teeth at the same time in their cramped bathroom. Rinse too.

18 Well, two nice Shirazes. And judging by the way Aziraphale was eyeing the wine rack, quickly going for a third.

19 His name was not Eric, of course. But no one actually knew what it was.

20 Well, couch.

21 He was never going to call her Dagon even if she would end up killing him in his sleep otherwise.

22 Even if that was stretching it a bit.


	6. ...our hero meets his destiny...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did someone say more Crowley pity-party?  
> I did. All of this fic is one massive pity-party with Crowley's name on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you ever so much, Holrose for beta-ing the crap out of this! You are awesome!
> 
> There's extra spacing whenever the POV changes. I hope that doesn't look confusing or anything. But I just couldn't have this chapter be one sided.

** Wednesday, December 12th **

‘A. Z. fucking Fell!’ Bea exclaimed and threw whatever was closest to their hand at him.23

‘Yeah. That was a thing.’

‘Do tell, you wanker.’

‘I…I mean I wasn’t very articulate.’

‘Are you ever?’

‘Fuck off, Bee.’

‘So. Story time. You and only _THE_ most well known author out there at the moment. This is gonna be such fun.’

‘Fine. Scoot over. This is supposed to be my couch anyway so…’

‘What do you mean your couch, you loafer?’ they said but they did indeed scoot over. They briefly debated microwaving some popcorn for this next bit but figured that it was most definitely stale anyway, so gave up on that particular endeavour.

\---

‘Hi,’ the stranger drawled as he draped himself on the chair in front of Aziraphale.

‘Hello, my dear,’ he tried smiling in return.

‘Yeah, hi.’

‘So you’ve said,’ the extraordinary man before him said and smiled widely with a small twinkle in his eye that Crowley would later categorise as his bastard streak.

‘Yeah.’

‘Should we order, do you think?’

‘Yeah.’

 _Okay, this was going super bad. Monumentally bad_. He was screwing himself over like he was prone to do from the very beginning.

‘Yeah, sure. Let’s order,’ he tried again and turned around to catch one of the waiters’ eye.

‘Well, hello there, my dear,’ the absolutely perfectly impossible man said while gazing at the young waiter with the kindest expression known to man. ‘I would like your Winter Wonderland tea blend. That sounds ever so fragrant.’

‘Black coffee. Espresso. Actually, make it a double,’ Crowley contributed to the exchange.

‘So,’ the angel addressed him after the waiter was gone. ‘I am very happy to make your acquaintance, dear boy.’

Maybe it was the ‘dear boy’ that did it. Maybe it was that prize-winning smile. But it was definitely something. He felt his heart nearly explode in his chest.

‘Yeah. That. Same.’

‘You are far better spoken in your literary exploits. Are you sure that no one else writes them in your stead?’

It was meant as a joke, but Crowley instantly bristled.

‘No. Those are mine. I mean my mum’s. She came up with the ideas.’

Aziraphale instantly realised that he pushed the wrong button and he tried his hardest to retrace his steps and be back in safer territory.

‘I was just jesting. Of course they are. Did your mother came up with the wonderful witch and wizard?’

‘Nah, that’s all me.’

‘They are wonderful characters.’

‘Thanks, I guess,’ Crowley crossed his arms over his chest and examined the cup of coffee being placed before him. ‘But you’re just being nice. I don’t much like people being nice to me out of pity, you know?’

‘Out of pity?’ Aziraphale lifted his eyes from the newly deposited mug of tea in front of him to inspect Crowley with an eyebrow slightly raised.

‘Yeah. Saw that I had absolutely zero feedback. Wanted to be nice.’

‘I can assure you that is not the -’

It was at this particular moment that a young woman got up from two tables across and made her way towards their table, a thick book clasped tightly in her hands. Crowley vaguely remembered noticing her face buried deep inside that book earlier on when he was scanning the joint for the angel.

‘Ohmygod oh my god!’ she loudly exclaimed and Crowley wanted to tell her to kindly fuck off as soon as he laid eyes on her, even more so for bothering the angel.

But he didn’t seem bothered. He smiled politely back at her and extended a hand in which the book was deposited.

‘Ohmygod oh my god!’

He took a pen out from an inner pocket of his jacket and opened the book only to sign his name on the first page with the well earned familiarity of someone who had done that thousands of times.

And then he closed the book and Crowley could just barely make out the name on the cover.

A.Z. Fell

_Oh. OH!_

‘There you go, dear,’ Aziraphale extended the book back and threw the young woman another smile before focusing on Crowley yet again.

‘Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,’ was the only thing that Crowley managed.

This was met with a warm smile that was just a bit too smug for anyone’s own good.

‘Do try to keep it PG, my dear.’

_Okay. Definitely too smug._

‘A.Z. Fell as in _THE_ A.Z. Fell?’

‘Well, it _is_ my name.’

‘As in number one bestseller for the last six months.’

‘I tend not to brag.’

‘Do you indeed?’

‘I don’t like the spotlight. I just like writing.’

Crowley nodded for a while. And then downed his coffee in two large gulps.

‘So, now that we got that out of the way…’

It was an out. It was clearly an out. But Crowley was the type of person to poke a dead pigeon on the side of the road with a stick to see what happened.

‘We got what out of the way?’

‘The fact that I am not just being nice. I know good literature when I set my eyes on it.’

‘Um…yeah.’

‘Could we move on to more pleasant topics?’

‘I guess…’

‘Good. I am extraordinarily intrigued about where you are taking the story. And it’s not yet finished. Or at least not yet published. From what I gathered, anyway.’

‘Yeah.’

 _Seriously, there was something absolutely monumentally wrong with him to make all of his answers two syllables mindless dribble_. He needed to do better. For the angel’s sake. For his own sake, _god damn him_.

‘I don’t know how to end it yet. I like happy endings. But the forces stacked up against them are just too much. So I have no idea how to end it on a happy note.’

‘Well, there’s always happy little miracles. Those might help. Not to mention that your two protagonists really seem to hit it off so maybe they can just make it work despite the odds being stacked against them.’

‘I mean….you’re the expert here.’

The angel laughed and Crowley felt like his heart might explode yet again.

He wanted to hear that wonderful melodious sound forever.

‘Hardly the expert. I have to adhere to hard facts and write very sad endings more often than not. I take no pleasure in that, but such is the case with historical dramas.’

That wouldn’t do. Aziraphale should take pleasure in everything.

He noticed how he was eyeing the display case and his eyes were quite focused on an almond chocolate cake.

He drew in a deep breath.

 _Oh God above_. If this was how he died and ascended to the heavens then so be it.

He exhaled and tried to get the angel’s attention.

‘Hey.’

‘Yes, dear boy?’

‘You can if you want?’

‘Can do what?’

‘The cakes. You can go for it.’

‘Oh, nonsense. I probably shouldn’t anyway.’

‘And why is that?’

‘Well, I would think that is altogether obvious, is it not?’

‘What?’

‘I should probably ease up on the sweets to begin with.’

Crowley looked at the impossibly perfect man before him and nearly snorted. _He can’t be for real…_

‘Angel,’ he tried but nearly bit his tongue clean off after that brazen attempt. ‘You should eat whatever the fuck you damn please. Oi there!’ he signalled one of the waiters. ‘My friend here will have the chocolatey stuff. The one with the almonds on top.’

‘Now, my dear, there is absolutely no need -’

‘Shhhhh. It’s fine.’

‘Well then. I suppose I should say thank you.’

‘Don’t say that. It’s just…you can eat whatever. Whenever you like.’

‘That is very nice of you, my dear.’

‘I’m not nisssse.’

‘Of course not,’ Aziraphale wiggled a bit in his chair and looked surreptitiously from the dessert that had just been placed in front of him to the man opposite him and then back down again. Almost bashful as he fluttered his impossibly long lashes – and if he was doing this on purpose, damn him for how effective it was.

He prodded the desert with a fork and then actually took a bite and Crowley gripped the edge of the table with both hands willing himself not to make a sound.

Because hearing Aziraphale’s heavenly moans over the phone was absolutely nothing compared to seeing the look of absolute bliss on his face as he closed his eyes and enjoyed the cake. He did keep it down a bit on the auditory front seeing as they were in public, but the look on his face…

Crowley’s missing braincell wondered if that was his O face. And realised that was a piece of information that he couldn’t live without. He desperately wanted to find out. Maybe right now even, right on this very table in this very crowded café.

His fingers dug into the wood on the table’s surface so hard he feared that he might leave indentations in it.

_Oh Lord above and Satan below…_

_He would never survive this_. He needed to make his intentions known as soon as possible for fear of exploding, otherwise. He needed the angel to know that this was more than a mere infatuation. He himself wasn’t all that sure what this was but he needed to be blunt. Nip this in the bud or ask him out on a date. _One of the two_. Problem was that he didn’t even know if the angel was gay or not, to begin with.

Assuming stuff about people was not something he tended to do. Not since everyone seemed to assume stuff about him. And not of the pleasant kind.

He couldn’t just ask him, either. _That would be rude, right?_

He could maybe have Bee trail him around for a bit and present their professional opinion as the person with the most finely attuned gaydar known to man.

While Crowley was pondering over all of the options Aziraphale had put his fork down and was now dabbing a napkin at his mouth ever so delicately. God, even _that_ was a thing that he did with perfect grace and posture.

Crowley wanted to be that napkin.

_What was that?_

He had been addressed a question.

‘Hmm?’

‘I said this is quite scrumptious. Do you want to try some?’

‘Nah, I don’t like eating much.’

He could swear the angel measured him up and down with a thoughtful look before muttering something that sounded vaguely like ‘obviously’.

But mere seconds later the angel’s expression changed completely to one of utter dread.

‘Oh, my dear boy. I am so sorry. Whatever must you think of me? I promise you I didn’t intend to offend you in any way.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘You said you didn’t eat in public and here I am, not even properly managing to abstain myself and then going around suggesting that you try it too. Oh, I am a horrible person. I do hope you can forgive me.’

He had started fretting something fierce by this point and he was toying with the hem of his waistcoat, rearranging the cutlery on the table, pulling at the table cloth and keeping his eyes down all the while.

_This just wouldn’t do._

Crowley growled for a bit and then grabbed the fork and shoved his mouth full of chocolate cake.

Aziraphale had lifted his eyes and was looking at him with wonder.

‘Wha?’ Crowley retorted, mouth still full of cake and he just realised he had randomly taken a person’s fork. Fork that has been in the angel’s mouth. _Now this surely wasn’t how things were done in proper society, was it?_

‘M’ sorry. S’ good.’

Then he waved at one of the waiters and asked for a clean fork that he offered to the angel.

Aziraphale was still looking at him warily.

‘Okay, sorry. That was shit of me. But here you go – new fork and everything. Not like I have any diseases or anything.’

‘Never said you had, dear boy.’

Crowley inspected his coffee cup only to find it empty. He could of course order another one. Had wanted to but then the angel looked at that cake so wistfully that he couldn’t say no to that.

He had all of twenty pounds on him and he was damned if he wouldn’t be the one to pay for their coffee date. _Again, not a date. Crowley, get your knickers out of the impossible twist they are in right now._

So he crossed his arms over his chest again and eyed a neutral point on the table instead.

 _Okay, so this was awkward_ and he needed for it to be less so.

_Should he just ask Aziraphale on a date and be done with it?_

He should. He definitely should.

And if he wasn’t gay that was fine.

Well, of course it wasn’t _fine_ , not from his standpoint, at least. But at least he would rip the band aid off quickly.

But things were still too awkward at this particular moment. He’d wait until the end of their coffee date. _NOT A DATE!_ and ask him them.

That seemed like a good plan.

Best plan he ever came up with.

‘Tell me more, my dear.’

‘About the thing?’

‘By which you mean your two stories.’

‘There’s more.’

‘Oh, how wonderful. Do send me the links.’

‘Yeah. Sure.’

Aziraphale hummed happily after appreciating another bite out of his dessert.

‘I mean there’s like this main one that all of the other ones sprung from. That was the one my mum came up with. And that does indeed have a lot of elves in it.’

‘Wonderful! Even if they are as far from Tolkien’s ones as possible.’

‘Always thought those were far too perfect.’

‘I mean, dear boy, that is rather the point, no?’

‘Nah. If we take the Hobbit for instance – the elves are just what they should be. Vicious forest sprites with their own hidden agenda. Proper writing that. And then Lord happens and boom! All of a sudden they are these perfect and really noble beings that sacrifice themselves and do whatever. It don’t work like that. They need to have an angle. That’s why I never much cared for Aragorn either. Too bloody perfect all the goddamn time.’

‘I think he only meant for all of them to be like that because of the uncertain times he was living in. People needed hope. They needed to believe that someone out there would act like that and take the noble route. Good for the general morale.’

‘That’s just bollocks. It’s lies. Give me a hard, honest truth everyday of the year.’

Aziraphale frowned.

‘I just don’t like being duped, is all.’

‘Of course not.’

‘People have been lying to me all my life, ang – Aziraphale. I would like at least my fiction to ring true. No one is that noble and just and whatever other bollocks them proper elves are.’

‘And yet, all of your humans seemed to be enamoured with them.’

‘Ah, but there’s the catch,’ Crowley leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table whispering in an almost conspiratorial manner. ‘That’s what they want the people to believe. They want them to be naïve and easily fooled. It’s perfect like that for all of their hidden machinations.’

‘So you’re saying elves are evil?’

‘Come off it, angel. Everyone is evil. Of course they are.’

He should definitely stop it with the angel nonsense, _what was the matter with him?_

Aziraphale drew to his full height24 and cleared his throat.

‘Present company excluded, obviously,’ Crowley chuckled and eyed his empty cup of coffee some more. ‘You wouldn’t even hurt a fly, would you?’

‘Well, that remains to be seen. But you can’t just paint the world in black and white like that.’

‘Oh no no, you got it wrong. There’s no white involved. Just black and shades of grey.’

_Who hurt you?_ Was what Aziraphale wanted to ask but of course didn’t.

‘That’s a bit glum,’ he said instead.

‘Well, so is life. There you have it. You were actually complaining earlier about having to write sad endings to begin with.’

‘And you were saying that you wanted a happy ending to yours. That sounds like there’s a bit of an optimist there to me,’ Aziraphale threw him another smile with that particular edge to it that clearly said bastard. It would become a lot easier to recognise it as time went along.

‘I’m not an optimist.’

‘Of course not. Didn’t mean to offend.’

The smile and the smugness didn’t go away.

_Damn this impossibly perfect man._

‘What about you, then? If everything is so peachy in the world. You write about wars and some such.’

‘I do. I want to portray history as objectively as possible but at the same time make the readers understand what it was like living back then.’

‘How is that working out for you? Well, actually, don’t answer that. It’s obviously going perfectly.’

‘Well, no, actually. I have a confession to make.’

‘Whas’ that?’

‘I may have some problems with my latest book.’

‘Wha’s that about?’

‘The War of the Roses.’

‘Mhm. I see how that might be a problem,’ Crowley leaned back in his seat once more. ‘Cunts the lot of them.’

‘Not the term I would use but, yes, quite.’

‘So don’t write about them, then,’ Crowley shrugged while he mentally counted the money in his pocket to make sure he would have enough to cover their order. He hoped the twenty pounds in his pocket would be enough.25

‘What do you mean don’t write about them? You do realise I do this for a living.’

‘You shouldn’t do stuff that makes you unhappy,’ Crowley commented, well aware about the hypocrisy behind his own words.

‘And what do you propose that I do, then?’

‘Write about someone else. The page boy. Or the lady in waiting. Or cook. The soldiers on each side. Good honest people who were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. That way you still have the historical angle but all of that bullshit can just happen in the background. I mean, I’m just sayin’, I guess.’

Aziraphale stared at him for a bit and that made him weirdly uncomfortable.

This mysterious stranger was so, _so_ much more than first met the eye. Not that he didn’t know that already, judging by his stories at least. But upon laying eyes on him no one would believe how the little wheels were turning behind those sunglasses of his that Aziraphale already hated and wanted them off as soon as possible.

He knew he shouldn’t objectify people and yet here he was, and it wasn’t even the first time he was doing it. Crowley’s voice alone had done strange things to him. And then he showed up and he was looking like sin personified. And all Aziraphale wanted to do was instantly ask him out. Properly ask him out. Not in a crowded café in the middle of the day but to a romantic dinner. Somewhere with candlelight and a piano and champagne and….and….

He realised how absolutely improper that was. Crowley only wanted to meet up to discuss literature. And if there was one person who was absolutely qualified to do that then that person was Aziraphale.

He might wait for the end of their little luncheon and maybe suggest another meeting. Of the non-romantic variety, of course.

‘That’s actually a very good idea.’

Crowley tipped his head back and started laughing and it was for the first time that he exhibited anything resembling mirth since he sat down. Aziraphale wanted more of that. He wanted to make him laugh and smile and rejoice forever, if possible. He felt like Crowley deserved that.

‘Lookey here,’ Crowley smirked, elbows back on the table again. ‘The great A. Z. Fell taking writing advice from the likes of me.’

‘And what would those likes be, my dear? I told you I really enjoyed your stories. Why shouldn’t I take advice from you?’

‘Well…I mean…ngk.’

 _Oh, he turned the most wonderful shade of red when being praised_ , Aziraphale realised. That was information that he had to catalogue carefully for safe keeping.

_Why was the angel being so sweet to him?_ He knew he didn’t deserve it but, on the other hand, he couldn’t stop basking in it. He never wanted the kind angel to ever stop. _Okay, this was it._ He was going to ask him out. He was. He opened his mouth to do just so when Aziraphale felt the need to add something.

‘Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to get them published? You might say that I know all of the right people. I could be able to help you with that.’

Crowley closed his mouth. Then opened it again. Then closed it some more. He did that several more times in quick succession which only meant that he sat there silently gaping like a fish. He was probably hyperventilating.

‘And if you want you can bounce ideas off me for that ending. Would that be something you’re interested in?’

‘Y…I mean…yeah.’

‘Wonderful! And in return I can bounce ideas off you about the page boy and the lady in waiting. And the cook, of course.’

Crowley was still gaping while Aziraphale was smiling at him like he had hung the stars themselves.

‘You write characters beautifully, my dear. And mine are always so stiff and stately. Comes from them being kings and noblemen most of the time, of course. But writing the common man is going to be quite interesting. And entertaining. I will need all the help I can get. We could call it our little arrangement.’

‘Yeah, that.’

‘Well, it’s decided, then,’ Aziraphale dabbed the napkin at the corner of his lips some more and then presented a hand.

Crowley stared at it for quite a bit before realising that taking and shaking it was what was expected of him.

‘We’ll be partners in crime.’

He couldn’t help noticing how Crowley flinched a bit at that but he quickly regained his demeanour and there was even a tentative smile over there, struggling to break through.

‘You could help me with the names, ang…Aziraphale. Make them historically appropriate enough.’

‘And here I though you were supposed to be writing fantasy.’

‘Don’t be cheeky. You know what I mean. It’s obviously a medieval society. I want them to ring a bit true even if they are made up names. You surely know stuff like what peasants in the eleventh century named their spawn and such like.’

‘Offspring, my dear.’

‘Wossat?’ Crowley inspected the coffee cup some more as if it personally offended him by lacking any contents.

‘They’re called offspring, not spawn.’

‘All children are spawn, ang…Aziraphale. Trust me, I should know.’

‘Oh. You have children of your own?’

‘Nah, just occasionally have to mind the pests in my neighbourhood when their parents are busy.’

‘Oh, that is so nice of you.’

‘I told you, I'm not nice. Nor any other word of the four letter variety.’

‘I will just have to come up with longer words then. Pity for you that that is what I do for a living.’

_Bastard._

‘How about…considerate? Courteous? Compassionate? Oh golly, look at me go and I haven’t even finished with the ‘C’s. There’s charitable and -’

‘Shut it.’

Crowley pouted for a bit and even that was completely adorable. Aziraphale was a goner, of that he was certain. And frankly, why should he even fight it? Here Crowley was, looking like bloody Adonis, with his extraordinary imagination and snarky quips and kindness and…and…

Aziraphale made up his mind.

Crowley also made up his mind.

This kind stranger was offering him his dream on a platter. He had to go about this intelligently if he ever wanted his mother’s tales to see the light of day and the insides of a book. A quick tumble in the sheets wasn’t the intelligent option.

He could almost swear at the universe for placing the angel in his path in this particularly cruel manner. If only he would be anyone else and not the only person who could help him out…

He really must have pissed off some very important people Up There at some point.

He sighed and gestured for the check.

Which was fifteen pounds. _Fuck._

Aziraphale quickly tried to pull out his wallet from his coat pocket but was beaten to it by Crowley pulling out a couple of crumpled bills from his jeans’ pocket coupled with some coins and, for some reason, a button.

He counted them and tried to straighten them as much as possible before putting them all on the small metal tray. He even left a two pound tip. He always made sure to do that since he was living off tips himself. _But damn_ , this was a lot more than he had expected to spend today. He was actually hoping to buy a Tesco BLT on his way back to Bea’s. Too bad that cost 2.50.26

He’d have to settle on one of those egg and crest sandwiches that tasted like wet cardboard. _Such was life._

Aziraphale quietly watched Crowley go about it but didn’t comment anything other than:

‘Honestly, my dear, you shouldn’t have. You didn’t even eat anything.’

‘Forget about it. And I did try you cake, didn’t I?’

‘Well, thank you anyway. That was very sweet of you.’

He kept smiling but on the inside he was at war with himself.

 _Oh no_ , he cursed at himself and his horrible timing. _Why didn’t he ask him out to dinner before?_

It was completely out of the question now.

He was certain how Crowley would react based on his previous comment about not liking people pitying him.

And it was absolutely obvious that was all the money he had. Painfully so, judging by the fact that he checked it was the correct amount four times.

The longer he paid attention the more he realised that despite the initial impression that all of Crowley’s clothes were the height of all fashion, he could see that the edges of his shirt were all but fraying and the winter coat that was residing on the back of his chair was patched in several places.

He pursed his lips.

He wanted to pay for the coffee and everything but he was certain that that would irk Crowley. And irk was putting it mildly.

He wanted to take him out to dinner too, but again, he knew how that would be seen. As a pity party, more than anything else.

Crowley looked bashful but a tiny bit pleased about being able to pay for everything and he was certainly not going to take that away from him. He’d just need to make sure that whenever they’d meet next it would be somewhere where nothing needed to be paid for.

He suggested going for a walk in Kew Gardens just as they got up and gathered their coats. Or maybe feed the ducks in St James.

That instantly made Crowley perk up and then he continued on a long tirade of thoughts on ducks. He was frankly rather taken with them. _Weirdly so._

So they talked about history and character arcs and ducks27 as they made their way unwittingly towards the bookshop.

It was only when they arrived on the threshold that Azirapahle realised that Crowley had walked him home without either off them becoming aware of the fact until this very moment.

And then another thought hit him.

_The Bookshop!_

It looked like there was a way out of their predicament after all.

‘Say, my dear, do you want to come in?’

23 It was an empty Starbucks cup. They tried saving money as much as possible but they occasionally spent much more than necessary and definitely much more than they were worth for those ungodly beverages. They did have a faint reverence for the cogwheels of the capitalist machine and wanted to see it rolling on and on just because they were being a little shit. Not to mention the fact that they made it their life mission to make their orders as needlessly complicated as possible invoking all of the not-milk-producing vegetables or pieces of wet cardboard they could think of to the baristas’ general dismay. They would also ask for whipped cream on top after previously having stated that they were lactose intolerant. It was one of life’s little joys for them.

24 Which is a hard thing to do when one is sitting down but he managed it nonetheless by mere force of belief alone.

25 Actually, nineteen pounds and twopence. Oh, and a button. And there might have been some lint, too.

26 Which in of itself is an absolute travesty. Damn good stuff, though.

27 Quite a lot of the talk was directed towards the ducks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed about elves are entirely Crowley's and do not necessarily reflect the views of the author.  
> ALL elves are good elves! Not that I'd think this particular bit of information about my personal preferences comes as that much of a shock.


	7. ...there was a bookshop...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two of them get to talk stories and more.  
> This is a Crowley POV chapter (mostly)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will get Aziraphale next (mostly)

** Wednesday, December 12th **

‘Um, this yours, angel, or are we breaking into someone’s shop?’

‘I can assure you it is mine.’

‘Huh. Go figure. No wonder you’re such a successful writer. I mean your brain must be an actual encyclopedia if you read even ten per cent of the books here.’

‘I read all of them, my dear. Coat?’

Crowley looked at him confused for a couple of seconds.

‘Oh, yeah, coat, sure. Here ya go.’

Aziraphale took both of their coats and made his way out back beckoning for Crowley to follow him. It wouldn’t do to have a coat rack in the front of the bookshop. That would only encourage the customers to feel more comfortable and therefore stay longer than necessary.28

Crowley inspected the rows upon rows of books in awe.

The light filtered through the oculus at the centre of the bookshop in a lazy way illuminating the dust particles that swirled around.

It looked so warm and peaceful. Music started playing at some point. He noted that it was Vivaldi.

December sunlight was usually a cold and biting thing but through the slightly glazed antique glass the light looked yellow almost. That, combined with the smell of old books and the general temperature inside the shop made it all feel like a fantasy in which Crowley wanted to bask forever.

It seemed like something stilled in time on a warm day of early autumn.

It seemed like a hug for the senses.

He got awakened from his daydream by Aziraphale calling out from somewhere around back.

He followed the voice29.

‘I asked if you take milk or sugar with your tea?’ Aziraphale asked from what he assumed to be the kitchen even if, when he stepped through the doorway, he realised that it was as full of books as the shop itself. Not so much a kitchen as another part of the store where someone decided to crowd an oven and a sink. All the surfaces were covered in books.

And yet somehow the angel had managed to clear out a small bit on the counter to place a tray with two mugs on it and was fiddling with the teapot.

‘No. Black’s fine.’

‘Should have guessed, really,’ Aziraphale smiled that all-knowing yet smug smile of his that Crowley was just beginning to get acquainted with while he arranged everything on the tray.

‘Whassat?’

‘I said, I should have guessed. Judging by your taste in coffee and your whole general demeanour. Very on the nose.’

‘Now hey there, no need to be presumptuous.’

‘I mean it fits the image, is all I am saying. And it’s not like you’re taking anyone by surprise with your tall dark and h… _ahem_ , brooding attitude.’

Crowley had inched closer and closer during their exchange and was now in front of the tray and mere inches away from Aziraphale, crowding him in his personal space.

‘Is that so? Let’s see who I take by surprise doing this, then,’ he smirked as he poured half of the sugar in the pot in his mug and then winked at the angel. The wink was so exaggerated it could be plainly seen, sunglasses or not.

Then he started stirring the tea, eyes fixed on Aziraphale who was conflicted about what he should be feeling, right now. He should be offended that Crowley had spoiled perfectly serviceable tea – well, that was a strong contender. So was laughing out loud at the ridiculousness of the man in front of him. Of course, blushing from head to toes at their proximity was also a valid option but he tried to ignore that. He definitely tried to ignore the little voice that told him to take a step forward and even gave it a strong mental talking to for being out of line.

And then, while still holding eye contact, Crowley downed the contents of the mug while Aziraphale tried to be a decent person and intervene but only managed to get there halfway with a faint protest of _‘My dear, there’s no need,_ ’ a little bit too late.

It took all of two seconds after the mug was downed for Crowley to splutter more than half of it over the kitchen sink.

 _At least he had good aim_ , Aziraphale pondered as he could see this coming a mile away and was mentally already lamenting what would happen to his clothes but was too much of a bastard to put an actual stop to it.

And then he straight out burst out laughing while Crowley was trying to wash away the taste by drinking water straight from under the tap.

‘Oh that is vile,’ he muttered in between gulps.

‘You ridiculous, ridiculous man. Come on then, I think I have just the thing to wash the taste away.’

Crowley grumbled for a bit but followed Aziraphale who, cup in hand was heading towards the front of the shop yet again.

Crowley had half a mind to just go on his merry way after whatever that had been. It appeared that making an utter tit of himself was what was on the menu today30.

Aziraphale placed his own mug down on the coffee table and went to retrieve something from a drinks cabinet it would seem.

It was a glass of whisky apparently and upon actually tasting it, Crowley realised it was a glass of absolutely stellar whisky, at that. Best he had ever tasted thus far31.

‘Mmm, angel, this is excellent,’ he hummed into the glass as he inspected the seating options and settled for the old and comfy looking couch.

And then he threw himself on it, nearly spilling half of his whisky.

Admittedly he only did that because of the “angel” nonsense slipping again and because he wanted to hide under a rock or some other behaviour he could not particularly give way to at this exact moment.

Aziraphale wanted to say something. He did. He wanted to admonish him for both acting like he was all but living there. And for ruining his rug. Well, nearly. But all he could do was tut slightly and hide his smile behind his mug.

_Who was this completely ridiculous man and how did he end up in his life and on his couch. And please, could he stay there forever?_

Crowley was entertaining similar thoughts as he sank in the cushions and imagined how he wouldn’t mind spending all of his free time right here on this couch, doing noting other than casually talking to the angel and basking in the warm light and soft music in the background.

And apparently Aziraphale didn’t mind the “angel” bit all that much, or, if he did, he failed to mention it. So maybe he would be allowed to stay here a bit longer.

So he pretended that whatever had happened in the last ten minutes actually hadn’t and went for casual.

‘Okay let’s talk about this book of yours. What’s the angle here. Who do you like better?’

‘Well, I don’t necessarily…’

‘Cause, I mean, Elizabeth was a bit of a cunt.’

‘Crowley! That is shameful name calling and not to mention that Warwick -’

‘Oh, Warwick was a massive cunt himself. They all were. So, which is it, angel? The loyalists or the usurpers.’

‘Usurper is an ugly word.’

‘So is cunt.’

‘Yes, rather. And therefore the reason I would like you to abstain from mentioning it any further.’

‘Alright alright, no need to get all spiky. Still tho, that’s what they called them, I ain’t the one to come up with it.’

Crowley had to do something about this hobby of his of sticking his foot in his mouth. It wasn’t a particularly tasty foot.

‘I suppose I don’t much like either. But I do love a love story. Even if it was just a love story at first.’

‘So you’re going the Woodville route.’

‘I mean…I tried. Didn’t turn out to be very effective. I don’t want to only write someone’s point of view since this was all such a complicated mess with so many factors to consider. But I don’t want to come across as if I am writing a history book either, deciding to explain everyone’s motivations as if this was a beginners class. Because every time I do that my publishers tell me that it’s all too complicated for “the masses” to get and “please keep it simple, thank you”,’ he gestured, visibly displeased.

Crowley frowned. That sounded like a load of bullshit.

‘I mean, I do try to simplify and overtly explain everything whenever they ask me to, but I feel so bad doing it. I should expect that someone who decides to read historical fiction actually knows history and I feel like I am treating my readers as children if I presume that I have to take them from zero instead of them actually knowing what I go on about.’

‘Understandable.’

‘And in this great mess of a thing, I think they’ll want me to explain in painstaking detail who everyone was and what they did and that sounds so condescending. The more I think about it, the less I want to write anything.’

Why was he ranting all of his frustrations out like that at this…this… _perfect, kind, brash, obnoxious, confusing, beautiful_ …stranger?

‘You know going on the ‘nobody of particular importance way’ you could have it not sound…like you’re treating everyone like they’re stupid. Have servants talk it out. Hmmm…new servants. I would go for a woman since women were treated like shite back then. Might be queer too, although that’s pushing it a bit. Or is it?,’ Crowley got up from the couch and started pacing around waving his arms about. The whisky was long gone. ‘New maid, or better yet, lady in waiting. Someone who existed but has no actual say in any of it. Young. Doesn’t know the ways of the court. Has to be told things which she rationalises with the mind of a weak, impressionable girl. Grows stronger, smarter. Knows stuff. Learns secretsssss.’

Aziraphale was faintly nodding at him.

‘You know if there’s one thing that I like about those three,’ Crowley further gestured with his now empty glass as if Aziraphale would have a precise idea who he was talking about32, ‘was that they were extraordinarily strong people. Cunning, intelligent. Cunts the lot of them – sorry – not very nice, the lot of them, but they did sorta shape history as we know it. And it’s certainly something to be able to do that from a position of powerlessness, right?’

Aziraphale couldn’t help but nod some more.

‘So I’d like to imagine that they weren’t the only three women to have that reaction towards the patriarchy, no? Maybe there were others as well. Unsung heroes. Unheard voices. Because at least those three had status. But imagine what happened behind closed doors? Plans like that didn’t hatch themselves. And they certainly weren’t aided by men, of that I am positively certain. One hundred per cent. So can you imagine the intrigue…the gossip, the backstabbing and double crossing going around. Cause, I mean, if I were any of those women I would surround myself with smart people and, furthermore, smart women.’

By now Crowley had circled around him and the rest of the furniture more than three times and decided to perch himself atop his desk.

‘I can’t just make things up, you know,’ Aziraphale pointed out. ‘It’s called that for a reason. Historical f-’

‘Fiction, yes. Because it is. We can’t know for sure if Margaret really wanted her son on the throne or wanted it for herself. I mean, I incline towards the latter bit, but can we know for sure? It’s all conjecture.’

Aziraphale wanted to argue but couldn’t. He was right, wasn’t he? You only knew the consequences of their actions, not what led to said actions.

He still had a hard time trying to solve the puzzle that Crowley was.

‘The only thing you can be sure about is your own characters' motivations. So make them your characters, not some unattainable historical figure. Make them have feelings and emotions and struggles that are not the ones that you read about in history books. Make them human.’

He looked positively vibrant, waving his arms about as he talked, obviously already imagining all the court intrigue and how the little threads could be sown together.

That was a beautiful look on him, not that he wasn’t beautiful to begin with, Aziraphale thought.

‘That’s actually…spectacular! Thank you, Crowley!’

There was such an honest joy in the angel’s tone that Crowley could not bear it. Such softness… and directed at him, no less. It was all a bit too much.

It seemed like that pushed Crowley’s buttons a bit too far as the next thing Aziraphale knew he was off his desk, had placed the empty glass on the coffee table and was hurriedly walking towards the door.

‘Crowley, wait! Your coat.’

‘Um yeah, that. Forgot I had an evening shift today. Need to get back home and shower right about now if I want to make it in time,’ he offered as an explanation for him taking off so suddenly.

Aziraphale very much did not imagine Crowley in the shower while he went and retrieved his coat33.

‘Here you go, dear. Sorry if I kept you from your duties. What was it that you d-’

‘Evening, angel. Talk to you soon,’ Crowley said and was gone.

\---

Crowley cursed at himself all the way down to the tube station and continued to curse on the tube ride as well, gathering weird glances while people gave him all the space he could possibly need and then some. People who muttered to themselves were not all that uncommon in London transport but it was best to just leave them well enough alone.

_Why was the angel being so nice to him? And why was this affecting him so?_

If unchecked his mild infatuation would develop into a full-blown crush and that was something he had to be careful about.

There had been such a warm glow to the angel’s features as he complimented him. And one could even say that his eyes sparkled.

_Okay, enough of this nonsense._

He needed to focus. He had just, not in so many words, been promised at least an in with some publishing houses. Keep it professional and all of that. Plus talking with Aziraphale was fun, when he didn’t embarrass himself like the massive disaster that he was or when the angel didn’t decide to look at him like the was Jeezy boy resurrected and put upon this Earth yet again.

So, keep it professional he planned to do, or as professional as lazying on Aziraphale’s couch while drinking his whisky was, at least.

\---

Aziaphale went to the kitchen and occupied himself with washing the cups and the glass. Too bad that only took him a limited amount of time and then he was left alone with his thoughts yet again. They were not happy thoughts.

He had done something to make Crowley upset. So upset in fact that he had left the bookshop altogether.

He fretted for a bit in the sitting area of the bookshop and then realised that no good would come of that since he couldn’t help but remember how Crowley looked, sprawled all over his couch and that was not something he should think about right now. Or at all. He felt like a proper creep.

Reading. Reading would do him good.

But he found himself gravitating towards his laptop that had not only seen the early two thousands but they had been a close and personal acquaintance too, instead of him reading the myriad books on his shelves.

_Alright, so just one chapter of Crowley’s story and then onto more serious research for his own book, now that he had an angle that he really liked, very much._

It was three chapters later when he couldn’t help but text Crowley about it.

_The battlefield was enormous and packed with people on all sides. It was a blur. Swords ricocheted on one another. Arrows flew around everywhere. And death was spreading around the plain like wildfire. The fact that no other thing than the burning torches cast any light on the whole place was not very good either. Agonising shrieks pierced through her skull. And that wasn’t by far the biggest problem she had. She was alone, as far as she could see. Clad in an armour, yes, but alone. She had no staff. And she had no allies to guard her._

_It didn’t even matter what side one was on around here. It wasn’t a mere fight. It was slaughter._

**[20:47]** I like your battle scene but I have to admit that I am a bit scared about what comes next seeing as you confessed that you haven’t yet written the end and the main protagonists are in a bit of a pickle, aren’t they?

\---

Crowley had indeed gone home, took a shower, had been berated by Dana for a bit about using all of the hot water and then berated some more by Bea for being back so soon from his coffee date.

And then he sat down on the couch and, after Bea’s initial reaction of pure shock at finding out who Crowley’s mysterious date had been, been forced to look the angel up on the internet while both Bea and Dana were sitting by his sides like vultures as he looked up book reviews and titles and everything else.

He couldn’t find anything about Aziraphale’s personal life and, even if he was somewhat disappointed that he had nothing to on, he was also relieved that those two busy-bodies would not get their juicy bits of gossip.

Apparently his first work was about the First World War and it was a saga of five books. There was also a book about Pompeii and one about Alexander the Great and the last one was about the Fall of Constantinople.

It apparently had the least number of events associated with it and the least amount of press coverage but at the same time the greatest reviews.

He had to ask the angel about that. He had never read any of his books before but he supposed he should start doing that, _shouldn’t he?_

And then he escaped the two honest-to-God demons with which he shared the apartment and went to work.

Night shifts were not something very organised since neither Bea nor Crowley were very organised people when push came to shove but they were the ones who paid the most34.

He was on the verge of entering the diner when his phone buzzed.

A new message from the angel.

That was sweet of him. _Well_ , everything about him was sweet.

Maybe that was the reason why Eric spoke to him35 for a full five minutes before he had any reaction.

‘Yeah, yeah, Eric, whatever you say. Sure thing,’ he waved a hand about and went out back to change into his work shirt and apron and make sure his hair was tied up so as not to be a health and safety hazard36.

**[20:55]** told ya that I have no idea how to finish it.

 **[20:55]** painted myslef into a corner didn’t I?

 **[20:55]** anyhoo, whatcha doin reading this – why arent you focusing on the novel

**[20:58]** I am not quite convinced about the characters and the general approach so I decided to sleep on it for now. And I do like reading.

Aziraphale only half-lied.

**[20:59]** understatement of the fuckin century

**[21:02]** And, well, I was actually hoping we could get together and discuss our literary exploits some more.

**[21:02]** cheeky angle

 **[21:03]** angle*

 **[21:03]** angel

 **[21:03] i** swear ill destroy this phone slowly and will take great pleasure in it

 **[21:03]** forward of you to ask me out quite so soon

 **[21:04]** wasn’t it supposed to be lik three days or smth like that

Crowley knew he was pushing it but he could always say that he was a shameless flirt through and through and be done with it because, frankly, he was a bit. Crowley could and would flirt with a wooden door37.

**[21:06]** Oh, I can assure you that this is nothing of the sort, dear fellow. I was just thinking we could have a cup of tea at the bookshop and discuss more story arcs.

Aziraphale had to clear his throat while composing his message and then drew in a deep breath or three.

**[21:07]** jk angel

 **[21:07]** sure thing wnever ya want

Eric was giving him the side-eye, but, _honestly, fuck Eric and the horse he rode in on._

He would probably bad-mouth him later to Bea, but he couldn’t give less of a shit about that.

There was a harsh knock on the window at some point so he took his eyes away from the screen of his phone only to meet the judgemental gaze of someone who was barely managing to keep himself up on two feet. There were a couple of equally drunk people behind him.

It was only nine pm, for Heaven’s sake. Not that he hadn’t been responsible for similar behaviour in his past, considering a couple of days ago, at least.

_Still. He was talking to his angel._

‘Oi mate, a bit busy over here,’ he pointed at his phone and continued typing.

By now the drunk guy outside was bashing his palm against the glass and Eric looked like he could just about murder someone38.

Eric did manage to appease the customers for the time being and then he managed to steal Crowley’s phone away, only to give it back at the end of his shift.

The threats about said phone had included it being thrown into one of the watts of oil and, even if Crowley really would have liked to see that since his phone was a complete abomination, he really didn’t want to miss any messages from the angel. So he let Eric take over and tried doing his bare minimum the best way he could.

 _To be fair, that kid really deserved a raise, being there at any and all hours, no matter what Crowley previously thought about him_. Crowley was actually wondering how come he managed to do it. Not that he pondered over it for a long while since he had his phone back now and was inspecting it for any additional messages from Aziraphale.

There were three of them. Inviting him over to the bookshop the next day as if it was nothing.

This was gonna be a good day. Week. Hell, century.

Bea would probably swat him over his head were they to see his wide smile that reached from ear to ear.

_I do hope to see you tomorrow, my dear,_ indeed.

28 Which was – at all.

29 Because, what else was he to do?

30 Most days, if he was completely honest, but something about being around the angel seemed to bring it to light even more so than his usual nonsense.

31 Not that he had a lot of experience with what would constitute good whisky. Not if one doesn’t consider store brand 7 pound whisky as anything resembling good whisky*.

*One shouldn’t.

32 Aziraphale did.

33 Not at all. Not even a little bit, thank you.

34 That was because the oily monstrosities that came out of the diner’s kitchen were not something that any sane person in full mental capacity would choose to eat willingly. No, this was the sort of food you got after a couple of hours spent in the pub. There was a reason why the diner never opened before late afternoon, anyway.

  
35 At him.

  
36 Even if honestly that would be the last on the list that the FSA would have to comment upon were anyone to inspect this place.

  
37 And probably get its number.

  
38 That particular someone was Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you ever so much, [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose) for putting up with my nonsense!


	8. ...a day turned into a week...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know this sounds unfinished but it will be like this for the oncoming three chapters.  
> I want the secondary characters to meet the two mains as soon as possible but I don't want to crowd them all in just one chapter so I will jump back and forth in time and have a chapter dedicated to each of them - plus all of the interactions between the two disasters on the side.

** Saturday, December 22nd. **

‘What the ever loving fuck are you doing with all your free time? Spending it all with the angel?’

‘His name is Aziraphale.’

‘That sounds angel-y. Is that even a word?’

‘I know, right?’

‘Whatever. Are you getting any good dicking out of it?’

Crowley snorted on his ramen and could swear he would have a noodle forever lodged in one of his nostrils.

‘BEE!’

‘What? It’s a valid question considering the time you spend over there. You didn’t even come home last night.’

‘It’s not like that. We’re…friends. I just fell asleep on his couch is all. I don’t even know if he’s gay or not. Not to mention that he said that he’d help me with the stories. I don’t want to fuck that up.’

‘You’re being stupid. As per usual. Okay. Call him.’

‘Why?’

‘I wanna meet him.’

‘You will do no such thing! You will be horrible and embarrass me. As you tend to do.’

‘Yeah, that goes without saying,’ Bea said while they inspected their fingernails. That fourth coat of black nail polish couldn’t do any harm no matter how chipped they were. ‘On the other hand, you will get to solve your mystery once and for all.’

‘And what mystery would that be?’

‘If he’s gonna fuck the living daylight out of you from now until kingdom come.’

Crowley coughed into his soup some more and decided that maybe he should just lay it down for a while if Bea was going to continue being an awful shit.

‘Fine. You…I…fine. I’m going to call him. And them I am going to invite him for coffee. And you’ll be payin, just so you know. You only get ten minutes and then you scram.’

‘Ow. Hurtful.’

‘Well, seeing as you’re behaving like this what possible assurance can I have that you won’t just muck it up for me, hmm?’

‘Because he must really like you. If you managed not to muck it all up on your own there’s only two possible explanations. One – you are doing great. Which I seriously doubt. Two – he wants to bone the daylight out of you. Which…I mean…fair.’

‘Fuck off, Bee!’

‘I was paying you a compliment, you wanker. Sheesh. Dagon!’

‘Yeah, Pix?’

‘Please beat Crowley up whenever you get the time.’

‘Yeah, beatings, got it. Just please let me sleep.’

‘Whatever you say, babes,’ Bea said and then turned back to Crowley. ‘Call the guy.’

‘Urgh, fine. Pass me the…’ he gestured towards the coffee table. ‘You know I’ll probably end up killing you in your sleep someday, you horrible gremlin.’

‘Sure thing, duck. Now go on, less threat-making and more dialling. Chop chop.’

** Sunday, December 23rd. **

It was the next day and a rather warm and pleasant one judging by the time of year so they decided to stay outside and bask in the unfamiliar December sun.

Aziraphale was already there because, of course he was, a warm and fluffy looking blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Probably provided by the café, but he looked as in his element as he could be.

Crowley gulped at what was just to unfurl next and drew in a deep breath preparing to cross the street.

‘That him?’ Bea pointed out.

‘Yeah.’

‘I swear I have never before seen such a perfect human embodiment of an actual cupcake.’

‘I know, ri…ahem. Yeah.’

‘Also,’ Bea continued and gave him the mother of all smacks to the back of the head.

‘ _OW_! What was _that_ for?’

‘You _do_ have eyes, right?’

‘Yeah?’

‘That has got to be literally the gayest man I have ever seen in my life, you wanker. I mean the only way to be more obvious would be for him to paint himself in all the colours of the rainbow and douse himself in glitter.’

‘You think?’

‘Oh yeah. True friend of Dorothy, that one.’

‘Hmm?’

‘You know, camper than a row of tents, queer as Christmas, as bent as a nine bob note,’ Bea casually waved their arm around.

‘Bee.’

‘A player of the pink oboe.’

‘BEE!’

This made Aziraphale’s head snap out from the book he was entertaining himself with and notice the two of them across the street.

He managed a tiny wave and an uncertain smile as he noticed Bea.

Crowley glanced sideways trying to make sure that Bea didn’t sport any particularly nasty expression.

‘And duck, I really mean it. You need to get in on that action. I mean, if you don’t fuck him, I will.’

They got a light smack over the shoulder. Fact that earned Crowley a hard fist to the ribs.

‘Don’t swat at me, ya knob.’

‘Fine just, you know, behave,’ he hissed back at them and finally crossed the street to approach the angel, Bea right behind him.

Aziraphale watched the whole exchange from afar and couldn’t help but frown in confusion.

_Was this Crowley’s mysterious roommate?_

‘Hey, angel,’ Crowley waved a two finger salute at him. And then mentally kicked his own arse for letting that slip up in front of Bea. He’d never hear the end of it, he realised, as he saw the smirk on their face.

Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind the term of endearment or the nickname or whatever it was that this was. So he had given up on trying to censor himself. But with Bea here…that was a whole other can of worms.

‘Hello there, my dear. I took the liberty of ordering for you. I hope you don’t mind the added spirits,’ he winked conspiratorially at Crowley.

‘Did you get me an Irish coffee?’

‘I thought it best in this crisp air. And this is?’

‘Oh shit, right. Bee, this is Aziraphale. Aziraphale, this is is Bee, my part time roommate and part time demon sent specifically from hell to torment me.’

‘Shut up, ya twat. You know I’m a delight. Hi, there,’ they extended a hand that was vigorously shook by Aziraphale who in the meantime had gotten up and drew back a chair for them.

Bea raised an eyebrow at the gesture but didn’t further comment on it.

They both sat down and Aziraphale tried to pass his blanket over to them. Crowley was already firmly wrapped in the one that was on his own chair.

‘Crowley didn’t say there’d be two of you. I would have ordered another drink. And gotten another blanket. Here, take this while I go inside and remedy things.’

‘No need. I won’t be staying long anyway. I need to meet Dagon and go Christmas shopping,’ the last part was more for Crowley’s benefit rather than anyone else’s.

 _Christmas. Oh. Fuck_. He had all of twenty pounds put aside for rainy days. And he hadn’t gotten the angel anything yet.

‘Are you sure, my dear?’

This got him another raised eyebrow, even if directed at Crowley this time.

‘Yeah. I’m good.’

‘So how are you on this beautiful day,’ Aziraphale turned to Crowley since his friend didn’t seem all that talkative to begin with. _Or in the mood to talk to him, anyway._

They were playing some loud game on their phone instead, nose buried deep inside the collar of their oversized jacket, fingers drifting over the screen in their fingerless gloves.

Aziraphale shot them one more tentative gaze before focusing all of his attention on Crowley.

‘Meh, been better. Cold as balls out here,’ he waved a hand around and took another sip of his coffee. The whisky was much appreciated.

Aziraphale tutted at him slightly but his heart wasn’t in it. He was seriously worried about how Crowley’s friend was acting towards him. He had said they were his best and oldest friend. And they didn’t seem to warm up to him at all. That was probably not very good news, all things considered.

He was apparently making a very poor impression indeed.

‘Anyhoo, how’s the latest chapter going? I was really into the whole drama between Margaret’s handmaidens. Excellently executed.’

Aziraphale wiggled for a bit in his chair and lowered his gaze bashfully.

‘Yes, well,’ he began, a small blush on his face but then, since he was himself, started going on and on about the last chapter. It took a while.

‘But I do have to thank you, my dear, for all of your lovely advice,’ he said as he placed his hand on the table only inches away from Crowley, Bea noticed when glancing at them over the top of their phone. _Stupid knobs._

‘Yeah, ya kno. Whatever. Glad it worked out.’

‘And how about you? With the witch and the wizard.’

‘Eh, I decided to add some more backstory instead. I keep postponing that ending. Very annoying.’

‘I’m sure you’ll get there eventually,’ Aziraphale said and Bea could swear that his hand moved ever so slightly towards Crowley’s. 39

‘A’ight. That’s it for me. Dagon just texted. Nice meeting you,’ they said as they got up to their feet and gave a curt nod to Aziraphale. Then they turned to Crowley. ‘Duck, I’m in charge of the groceries today. Just call beforehand and mind the sock on the door if there is one,’ they winked.

And then they were off.

‘Duck?’

‘Don’t ask.’

‘Alright then. Sock?’

‘Let’s talk ducks then.’

___

‘I just mean I don’t believe I made a good impression on your friend, is all,’ Aziraphale said as he eyed the pavement.

They were walking back towards the bookstore.

Crowley had been a bit miffed when he had been told that the check had already been taken care of since you needed to pay beforehand if you wanted to serve anything outside. But hell, if that was the café’s policy, he couldn’t hold anything against them. There were a lot of freeloaders in the city after all.

‘Nonsense, angel. They absolutely loved you.’

‘Didn’t seem like it.’

‘Oh, trust me. If Bea would hate you, you would know. And it would NOT be pretty.’

‘Well, I actually do believe that.’

‘You do, don’t you? Fucking little gremlin that they are. But they do care about me. They’re the only one to have cared about me for a long long while. They just don’t show it in a traditional manner.’

 _I care about you_ , Aziraphale very much didn’t say.

‘I am really happy you had someone in your corner for all those years,’ was what he said instead, very much omitting: _You deserve it, darling_. Where did that 'darling' come from? _Aziraphale, get a grip on yourself!_

He realised that Crowley had opened up to him in increments and without even realising he had done so.

So what he gathered up about his life so far from all of their drunken or not so drunken discussions were the following things:

Crowley’s dad had left both him and his mum when he was really young.

Crowley’s mum had died in a car crash that ended with Crowley being put into an orphanage and then into foster care. But that didn’t stick for long.

That is apparently how he had met his roommate, Bea, who, honestly, seemed terrifying but they did seem like they cared about Crowley a lot. And that in of itself was more important than anything.

He had at some point found out about Crowley losing his apartment because he had been hospitalised at the time. And had found out about the community service and petty crimes as well. He completely understood the wizard character now, he believed.

He had also gathered that Crowley was very imaginative and very kind and considerate despite his reactions to be called any of those things.

He wore those annoying glasses because of light sensitivity.

And he liked flowers. Quite a lot.

Aziraphale didn’t know what to do with all of this information except store it like something precious.

** Friday, December 14th. **

‘Hey there, angel,’ Crowley called out all cheery from the doorway of the bookshop.

Aziraphale who had feared the worst 40 had rushed from the back of the shop to dissuade anyone from actually spending any time here. He sighed in relief when he spotted Crowley and then smiled widely.

‘Oh, my dear, such a pleasant surprise. And perfect timing too, as I was just about to close down for the day.’

‘It’s two in the afternoon,’ Crowley stated matter-of-factly. It might have well been six in the morning for all he cared. _Not proper hours, those_. He himself had just managed to drag his lazy arse out of bed only an hour ago. Had grumbled for a bit all the while but he wanted to spend as much time as possible with the angel and Bea had once again asked to manage their shift for them in the evening.

‘And your point is?’ Aziraphale lifted an eyebrow for a couple of seconds before hurrying over to swap the closed sign before anyone got any ideas. Then he locked the door and started straightening his cardigan before turning back to Crowley and gesturing for him to follow him towards the backroom.

Today he was dressed a little bit more casually than he had been when they first met, Crowley noted, even if he still had perfectly ironed beige trousers and a crisp white shirt together with a bow tie that Crowley would soon find out was a bit of a signature thing for the angel. He had given up the waistcoat and jacket however in favour of the plushiest cashmere cardigan he had ever seen so far. _He looked like the embodiment of a hug_ , Crowley thought.

‘I um… brought you these,’ Crowley fished for something in his tote bag and pulled out a bouquet of yellow tulips that he handed over while avoiding the angel’s gaze.

‘For me?’ Aziraphale all but glowed as he took them and held them close to his chest.

_Oh good Lord._

‘For the shop. It's rather stuffy in here. You need some plants around.’

Aziraphale’s smile fell just a little bit but he was still ever the most considerate host so he invited Crowley to sit down while he “went and put these beauties in a vase” and then fiddled in the kitchen some more only to come back with a tray with a cup of tea and a cup of coffee on it.

‘I just thought, since you seem to prefer it,’ he explained as he handed him one of the best coffees that Crowley had ever tasted. He fought the urge to down it in one large gulp and instead tried sipping it as slowly as humanly possible.

‘This is amazing, angel.’

‘The people at the shop seemed to think so too. It came with a lot of good reviews. It's from Ethiopia, I think.’

‘It’s bloody delicious, is what it is. But you shouldn’t have bothered.’

‘Nonsense, dear boy. If we are to spend time discussing books we should both drink whatever we like best. I would have suggested a bottle of Chateau Lafitte but you said that you had to work later.’

‘Still, no need to go through all the bother for me.’

Aziraphale just shook his head and very much forgot to mention that he bought the most expensive coffee press he could get his hands on just this morning and spent an actually insane amount of time trying to get it to work just right.

_No one needed to know that, did they?_

** Tuesday, December 18th. **

‘Whassat?’ Crowley managed from in between two shelves where he was inspecting some books about the Romans. He personally liked the Romans from what little he knew of them. _Organised buggers._

He was inspecting some maps with a lot of pointy arrows on them. It took a while to realise that they depicted siege manoeuvres in their war with Gaul.

The reason it took a while was that he was completely hammered. That tended to happen in Aziraphale’s presence apparently.

‘I asked how come your wizard is such a chirpy fellow and an optimist after being orphaned so young.’

‘Cuz sad orphans are shite. Very cliche. No one wants to read that.’

‘I mean, I love his character very much dear, but how do you mean?’

‘I mean everyone expects orphans to be a sad bunch of whatever. Losers. I dunno. Just wanted to change the narrative a bit, you know?’

‘I…don’t?’

‘Telling them to get over the melodrama as if it’s somehow easy. So I wanted to make it that. Make it easy.’

‘Who does that?’

It might help to understand why Aziraphale wasn’t completely apt at putting two and two together if we knew how completely sloshed he was as well. He was a very perceptive and intelligent person. Especially before having drunk three bottles of wine. Now however that wasn’t the case.

‘You’d be amazed, angel. Lots of people do. Can I borrow this?’ Crowley’s head appeared from behind the bookcase and he pointed at the military tactics book. ‘I think I’mma write a siege scene.’

‘Of course, my dear. Borrow whatever you want. But how do you know that?’

‘Personal experience, angel. Fun times. I think I saw another one with trebuchets and the like. It had descriptions of how they worked and everything. Purple cover.’

‘The bookshelf on your left. Second shelf from the bottom. Right hand side,’ was what Aziraphale managed to say and he was very impressed that his mouth did manage to overwrite his brain and actually say something. Anything at all.

‘Jeez, angel. Do you know where they all are by heart?’ Crowley chuckled and dived back in between the bookshelves some more.

_No. It couldn’t…Crowley wasn’t…_

_Oh, poor darling._

_No wonder he didn’t like the pity party._

**Monday, December 17 th. **

‘The tulips should have wilted by now,’ Crowley declared as he pushed the new bouquet at Aziraphale. It was a bouquet of blue salvia.

Aziraphale eyed it dubiously for a bit but didn’t comment on it as he went and put it in another vase since the tulips had honestly done no such thing and they were sitting, prim and perfect on the little coffee table in the backroom.

But if Crowley didn’t want to provide any other explanation then so be it.

‘How was your evening, my dear?’ he asked from the kitchen while still fiddling with the new contraption that only worked when it so desired. He had messed up four coffees so far.

‘Crowded. And annoying. And long.’

‘I am so very sorry to hear that. What was it you said you were doing?’

‘I’m working for my friend Bee at their place.’

Aziraphale waited for more.

It didn’t come.

‘That’s…nice.’

‘Yeah, they’re a hoot. Could probably kill you in your sleep but otherwise a hoot.’

‘They sound like it.’

‘How was your evening, angel?’

Aziraphale had a hard time keeping his heart in check whenever he heard the term of endearment but tried to dismiss it as if it was nothing.

‘Nothing out of the ordinary, I’m afraid. I read for a bit and then went to bed.’

‘Oh, I know,’ Crowley replied while he was by now occupying more space than actually physically possible on the couch and nose deep in whatever books had been spread on the table.

One of them at least. It was Orlando.

‘This is really nice,’ he said putting the book down and trying to at least look more presentable, if only just.

‘Bee would definitely like this.’

‘What do you mean you know?’

‘I mean you kept messaging me about that stupid story until two in the morning.’

Aziraphale nearly dropped the tray so instead he clenched his hands so hard on the handles that his knuckles were white.

‘Oh. I am sorry. Din’t mean to bother you. How horrid of me.’

‘Oh, no no angel, nothing like that. I always like talking to you.’

_SHIT!_

_Well, what’s done is done, right?_

‘I was just wondering why you waste your time with that when you can read whatever,’ he waved his arm about as if to point at the wide collection all around them.

‘None of that, dear boy. And plus, I told you, I read all of these already. You said that your friend would like that one? Maybe you could borrow it then,’ Aziraphale pointed at the book in Crowley’s lap.

‘Yeah, they would like it. Right up their scrawny arse’s alley.’

‘I am confused.’

‘Mmm?’

‘You seem to insult them but don’t seem to mean it.’

‘Ngk. I mean…they’re an arsehole. But they have also saved my life on many an occasion, both literally and figuratively. I’m spending most of my days on their couch right now since I’ve been evicted like a proper disgrace. Isn’t that pathetic?’

_Why was he even sharing this?_

‘Not at all, my dear! What happened?’

‘Spent a fortnight in the hospital and failed to pay my rent. Add that to the fact that my landlord is a cunt – sorry – I know you don’t like that, angel, but he is. Put all of my possessions on the kerb. Anyone could have stolen them. I could have lost my mum’s stories, you know?’

‘Oh, dear, how horrible!’

‘Myeah. It’s…whatever. Water under the bridge. Let’s talk about your thing.’

**Sunday, December 23 rd. **

‘So why do they call you duck? Actually, what is it with you and ducks to begin with?’

‘What? I like ducks. They’re right proper bastards.’

‘Right.’

‘Cheeky little fuckers.’

‘That makes all the sense in the world.’

‘Does it matter? They’re just like…ducks, you know?’

‘Yes, I am aware of that avian variety in particular, yes.’

Crowley looked after something that he could throw at the angel without causing that much damage and settled for a pillow. 41

'You really are a bastard.'

'So I've been told,' Aziraphale wiggled a bit in his chair. ‘So? Ducks?’

‘We had this game when we were in care together about who got to hit as many ducks’ heads as possible with the stale pieces of bread we stole from the kitchen.’

‘That’s horrible!’ Aziraphale exclaimed as Crowley chuckled and let his head fall backwards and Aziraphale openly stared at him. _How could someone be so downright perfect?_

‘Anyway, Bee always hit the most ducks and since they made a habit out of punching me they reasoned I was very much like a duck. Recently they hide behind auto-correct to openly call me a “dick” in PMs and then act all innocent-like. Very frustrating.’

Aziraphale fought back a snort.

‘Anyway, that’s not to mention the fact that they’re sneaky evil little fuckers. Right on the money about that.’

‘Oh, you are no such thing!’

'You're being impossible, angel.'

'And you, my dear, are very very sweet indeed.'

This earned him a long groan.

Aziraphale didn't yet know how sweet, but he would find out soon enough. Come Christmas to begin with.42

39 Yeah, maybe Crowley would get there eventually with the ending of the story but that sure as hell wasn’t happening in reality. Or maybe that would be the case if that "eventually" would have been like when they were both ninety and had dementia, or something.

40 Namely customers.

41 They weren’t called throw pillows for nothing.

42 For starters.


	9. ...on Christmas day...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first half of some very softe Christmas shenanigans :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am extraordinarily sorry that I can't seem to stick to my posting schedule, try as I might. I am doing my best, at least, only having a couple of days of delay while my other two WIPS are postponed sooo much just because this baby really wants to see the light of day.  
> Maybe posting once a week was a wildly optimistic approach on my part if all chapters are 5K, who knows...

** Sunday, December 23rd. **

‘Alright, you ghosted me for long enough. Today. Noon. Teahouse on the corner. Just you and me, yes?’

Aziraphale looked at the mouthpiece as if it personally slanted him.

‘Oh, dear girl, I… I can’t. Terribly important meeting with Gabriel later on. Can’t be missed.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘I am most definitely not.’

‘Yeah. You are. You always blow that jerk off to meet up when I give you the opportunity. Which only means you are meeting up with someone else. Hmm… maybe someone you don’t want me to know about?’

‘I have no idea what you are on about.’

‘Most definitely tall dark and handsome, then.’

‘My dear -’

‘It’s fine. You do your thing. I do hope he is insanely good looking though or I would feel personally insulted.’

_He is._

‘Like I said, I don’t -’

‘Anyway. Tomorrow then. You, me, Christmas Fair in Hyde Park?’

‘Isn’t it a little late to go to such a thing? Christmas Eve and all.’

‘Oh, I don’t know… I have this feeling that you might have forgotten something in this year’s gift sharing department.’

 _Oh, bugger_. He hadn’t bought anything for Crowley.

‘I can assure you that I am all set, my dear. But, of course, if you want to go, I couldn’t possibly say no.’

‘ _Oooof_ course.’

Aziraphale could basically hear the smirk behind that reply. He did not address it.

‘Okay. See you tomorrow. Noon. I’ll swing by the shop. Enjoy your date.’

‘I am not going on a -’

The line disconnected and Aziraphale could feel all of that vast array of swearwords one tends to learn as a teenager bubble ever so faintly towards the surface.

‘Oh, fiddlesticks!’ he compromised on instead.

** Friday, December 21st. **

‘So, what is it you do with the rest of your free time, angel? When you don’t entertain drunken ol’ me messing with your good wine reserves,’ Crowley was sitting down on the floor cross-legged in such a manner that defied any possibility of him having a single bone in his body.

There were books spread all around him and was picking them up one by one only to put them back opened at random pages that held no meaning to anyone but him. He was muttering to himself and from time to time reaching out for his glass of wine that has been long ago taken away by Aziraphale because no matter how much he liked Crowley, red wine and books did not mix well together.

‘Well, I read, I write. I do my research.’

‘I mean for fun, angel. Going out and painting the town red.’

‘Well, it’s plenty read as it is. What with the busses and everything.’

‘Now don’t be contrary, you silly sod.’

‘I am definitely not silly,’ Aziraphale cleared his throat and adjusted his bow tie as if to emphasize how precisely not silly he was.

‘No, of course you aren’t.’

He could swear that Crowley had smiled a sweet smile at him before ducking his head behind the book he was inspecting once more.

Aziraphale pondered over that and could not fight back a smile of his own.

He also pondered over telling Crowley about the two women in his life that would have an absolute field day were they ever to meet this mysterious stranger. Tracy would probably just be crass and cheeky which was very on brand for Crowley too, so maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. But Anathema… it didn’t even bear thinking about.

He would have to keep those two as far away from each other as possible. For all of their sakes, but especially that of his poor mental sanity.

‘Ah well, you know… the usual. Going out to diners, art exhibitions. Museums from time to time.’

‘We should go to a museum together, angel,’ Crowley offered without even taking his eyes away from the pages of the book. It was about religious orders in the thirteen century.

Aziraphale had asked him what possible interest he could have in that and had been dismissed with a simple ‘wizards, monks – bunch of weirdos the lot of them’ before Crowley got up from the floor, installed himself on the couch and started reading. The couch seemed synonymous with Crowley nowadays.

He probably didn’t even realise what he had said.

‘Yes I supposed we should,’ he replied and Crowley looked at him with a furrowed brow for a second or two before his brain caught up with their latest exchange.

‘Well I mean -’

‘We could plan something for after Christmas. Do you go often?’

‘I mean, yeah. There’s a lot of them that don’t charge for admission. And there’s a lot of worse stuff to be doing with your day, innit?’

‘We could go to the National Gallery. Oh, there’s this temporary exhibition that I wanted to see for ages!’

Crowley put his book down and started looking up something on his phone. Then at some point gulped but quickly cleared his throat and put his phone away. ‘Yeah, sure thing, angel. Whatever you want.’

Aziraphale was a bit worried about Crowley’s forced smile and sudden foot tapping but he couldn’t place his finger on just what Crowley’s source of nerves was. So he decided that wine was something that would smooth things over nicely and he went to get a bottle.

There was nowhere that his companion had to be for the time being as he apparently had no night shifts to get to today so they could sip on a glass or two. 43

Four bottles of wine later Crowley was waving his empty glass about and talking some nonsense about the Romans.

‘What’s that, dear?’

‘I was just… what were we talking about? Ah yeah. Centurions.’

‘Horribly portrayed in the media.’

‘Yeah, well the point was Romans.’

‘An excellent point my dear.’

‘Don’t be a knob.’

‘That’s not a nice thing to say.’

‘Sorry, angel. You were saying? Media?’

‘I mean all of them wearing red. Very annoying.’

‘What?’

‘And the helmets with the plumes. I mean, honestly. It doesn’t take that much research to find out what an actual uniform looked like.’

‘Yeah but it’s more like the image, ya kno?’

‘What image? That of incompetence? How do you manage to camouflage in a forest in red cloaks and gilded breastplates. It’s just preposterous.’

Crowley snorted.

‘I bet you’d be a hoot to watch historical movies with.’

‘I would appreciate the filmography if it paid homage to actual history instead of taking wild liberties about settings and costumes not to mention how the actual actors look as opposed to how they are supposed to.’

‘It’s called poetic license, angel,’ Crowley mumbled, head resting on one of the many decorative pillows while he toyed with the fringe of another one, his speech slurred, be it because of sleep or alcohol or a mixture of both, Aziraphale did not know.

‘Well, I could go without that. I prefer my entertainment accurate, thank you very much.’

‘Adorable,’ he could swear he heard Crowley mumble from the many pillows that he had managed to arrange just right to get almost burried in the midst of them.

_No, that couldn’t be._

Aziraphale waited for a few seconds to gather his courage before he addressed him.

‘Come…um…come again?’

This unfortunately, or maybe very very fortunately for him was just met with a soft snore.

He checked his old grandfather clock. Nearly two am. Not like he was going to make Crowley get up and get home even if it would have been before midnight and the tube was still working.

He instead went upstairs to find a woollen blanket and maybe a hot water bottle since he knew how cold the bookshop became when the fireplace wasn’t functioning. But the idea of leaving a fire unattended did not necessarily bring him any comfort.

When he returned downstairs Crowley was curled on his side, nose all but buried in the cushions while he clutched the empty glass of wine close to his chest.

Aziraphale tried replacing that as smoothly as possible with the hot water bottle only for Crowley to curl completely around it. He then draped the blanket over him and tucked it at the corners.

On second thought he bent over and picked Crowley’s glasses off his face with the flimsy excuse that they would dig into his cheek were he to toss over in his sleep.44 He did however very much fight the impulse to push back a loose strand of hair behind one of Crowley’s ears. That would have no excuse, flimsy or otherwise.

His eyes looked normal, at least when they were closed, his pupils moving under eyelids, probably already dreaming and his long dark lashes fluttering slightly.

Aziraphale could not, for the life of him understand how the man before him could be even more beautiful like that, with his eyes closed, peacefully sleeping.

He placed the sunglasses on the coffee table and nearly made a run for his quarters back upstairs before he did something unbelievably stupid.

** Saturday, December 22nd. **

Crowley woke up the next morning feeling weirdly out of place.

_Why was that?_

_Oh, right_ , he realised and immediately started fumbling for his phone.

_Bee must be worried sick._

_Well, maybe not_. They’ll just act worried sick to guilt trip him, as they did.

Better message them anyway.

**[12:16]** sry to ghost on you lik that

 **[12:16]** m okay

 **[12:16]** not dead in a ditch

**[12:19]** pity

 **[12:16]** good shag?

He placed the heels of his hands over his eyes and groaned loudly.

Which apparently prompted Aziraphale to make his presence known as he stepped out of the small kitchen with two cups of hot tea because, of course he did.

Crowley took another moment to clear his thoughts before drawing a deep breath and opening his eyes.

Aziraphale was already seated in his armchair, cups resting on the table and smiling widely at him.

The smile seemed to vane somewhat for whatever reason but then Aziraphale cleared his throat and tried again offering him a warm “Good morning, my dear” and pushing the cup of tea ever so slightly his way.

‘Thanks, angel. Sorry for being a knob and falling asleep on your couch. Won’t happen again. You probably should have said something. I would have been on my way.’

‘Nonsense, dear boy. It’s no trouble at all.’

Crowley managed a string of unrelated consonants and took his cup of tea, trying to look around at the bookshop. Anywhere but the angel, really.

But it seemed like Aziraphale was openly staring at him. _Why was that?_

It also seemed like everything was just a tad brighter than usual.

He felt a weight drop to the pit of his stomach as he traced his gaze back to the coffee table where his sunglasses were sitting. Right there on the coffee table. Not on his face. But on the dratted coffee table.

He placed the cup down as swiftly as he could without spilling half its contents and pushed the damn things over his eyes instantly.

_Shit._

‘Crowley. I have been meaning to ask… why do you wear those?’

‘Light sensitivity. ‘S a thing.’

Aziraphale wanted to further comment on the issue but was cut off as Crowley got up and did his best to fold the woolen blanket.

‘Right then. Best be off. I imposed long enough. See ya’ angel.’

Aziraphale stared at the door for a while and then sighed.

_Light sensitivity. Poor darling._

He really needed to get this darling thing in check.

Also maybe is heart. Especially after seeing Crowley’s eyes.

** Monday, December 24th. **

The Christmas market was not so bad. Which was to say, the Christmas market was superb and Anathema didn’t start drilling him as soon as they set foot there. She actually, for the most part, did her own shopping and let him be.

He wandered around the stalls and bought as many cinnamon teas and gingerbread biscuits as he could even settling for a couple of decorations for the shop. All colourful and boisterous and so cheerful that they would put a smile on Scrooge’s face. 45

And then he spotted the craftsman stall, covered to the brink in spun glass globes and decorations.

It was beautiful. Like something out a fairy-tale. It vaguely reminded him of Crowley and his tales of glass towers and midnight stars.

His eyes landed on a silver star spun on the inside of a translucent globe. It shone in the light and you could even say its core was of the purest whites imaginable. He could go as far as say it looked faintly like he had always imagined the Light of Elendil to look like. Huh, look at him revisiting old fantasy classics now that someone like Crowley came into his life. It looked impossibly delicate and extraordinarily beautiful, not unlike that certain someone himself.

The vendor was apparently speaking to him, Aziraphale realised after an honestly embarrassing amount of time when he just stared at the star in his hands.

_How did that even manage to find its way in his hands?_

‘I am deeply sorry, dear fellow, what was that?’ he directed his attention towards the vendor.

‘I said be careful with that. That’s sixty quid, that is.’

Aziraphale stared at it some more.

It was at this particular moment in time that Anathema caught up with him and looked inquisitively over his shoulder at the piece of spun glass he cradled ever so delicately.

‘Oh, that’s nice.’

‘I rather think it is, yes.’

Aziraphale smiled at her and then directed the same smile at the stall owner, passing the globe over.

‘Do be a dear and wrap this up.’

‘Ooh! Who’s that for.’

It wasn’t even a question. It was as far removed from a question as it could possibly be.

It was obvious for everyone involved that he had been found out forever ago. But Aziraphale liked playing his silly little games and Anathema always enjoyed playing along.

‘Well, the bookshop, obviously.’

‘Mhm. Course it is. Now let’s go drink some mulled wine. I am freezing my ass here.’

Aziraphale paid the man, offered him another small smile as an excuse for his companion’s language and took the proffered bag as she snaked an arm around his own and guided them both through the throng of people and towards the warm beverages she had promised.

** Tuesday, December 25th. **

Aziraphale liked Christmas. He did. He liked the songs and the decorations and the lights and the stories and everything. He liked the fact that the city was deserted. That occasionally it would snow – even if that was a surprise that came every ten years or so more than anything else. He liked the fact that people hunkered down and spent the day with their family. What he did not particularly like was that he had to spend his day with his.

Every year they would meet up at the manor and he would have to have a silent and glacial lunch with his two cousins. No one ever spoke much, other than maybe try and berate him for whatever took their fancy on that particular year.

He would have to spend a couple of hours in Gabriel’s company which was never something he very much enjoyed even when it was just related to work. But he also had to meet up with Michael who he usually managed to avoid like the plague.

The problem was that Aziraphale was well aware that his intellect was far superior to Gabriel’s. But he never knew where he was standing with Michael who just sat silently and examined everything and every now and then would direct a pointed remark or an even more pointed smile in their direction.

She had been a hot-shot solicitor in the City before Empyrean Publishing46 had brought her aboard to the “family business”.

Most of the Christmas discussions tended to float towards “when is the next book going to be finished”, “the sales haven’t been what we envisioned” and “we should think about the next book signing”.

Every so often they also gravitated towards “when are you going to find someone and settle down” quickly followed by some quip or other, none of them particularly apt or intelligent. Most, if not all of them, uttered by Gabriel while Michael quietly observed. _Like a shark_ , Aziraphale had always thought.

For all intents and purposes the manor belonged to him and not his cousins. But there were so many bad memories directly related to that place that he tried his hardest to avoid it as much as he could.

The staff was paid. The estate was taken care of. They could do with it as they wished. He had told them that on plenty of occasions.

That didn’t mean Gabriel didn’t scoff at him whenever they got to their twice-a-year family reunions and the whole staff greeted Aziraphale like the rightful master of the house while he and Michael were treated as guests even if they spent far more time there.

It also didn’t escape his notice the look they exchanged between themselves as he always got the seat at the end of the table while they got to sit at his sides.

He didn’t much care about seating options but the butler had told him on many occasions that it simply would not do to mess the seating arrangement and he didn’t want to argue.

He tried avoiding conflict at any cost.

The best he managed in that respect was being completely passive aggressive and ignoring Gabriel’s phone calls every time he could, pretending to be completely technologically inept.

That got him the occasional thinly veiled insult disguised as a joke, but, at least that was better than actually having to speak to Gabriel more than once a week.

Unfortunately, this was a family tradition and Aziraphale couldn’t just say “I don’t feel like seeing you this year. You are both truly horrible people” even if he very much didn’t and they very much were. Not without a proper excuse, anyway.

He had even visited his tailor and commissioned a three-piece suit in a colour he had never worn before particularly for the occasion. It was what one did, wasn’t it? For a special occasion?

He really didn’t find it all that special. But he always did try his best.

He sighed and started locking the bookstore up imagining any scenarios in which he could decline the meal without feeling awfully guilty about it.

If only he would have such luck.

‘Hey there angel!’

His eyes snapped up.

_Could it be?_

He scanned the street only to see Crowley lean against the nearest traffic pole with his hands crossed over his chest and a hip slanted just so, as he usually did, probably unaware of what that particular stance did to Aziraphale’s both brain and…well, other parts.

He was sporting a skin-tight cashmere coat as he always did. He always wore clothes that looked like they were painted on more than anything else.

‘Oh, Crowley. Wasn’t expecting you here. Wait, what are you doing here?’

‘I was just in the area and thought I’d drop by,’ Crowley peeled himself off the pole and sauntered his way, hips swaying all over the place, canvas bag on his shoulder as always.

‘On Christmas Day?’

‘Y…yeah?’

There was now a touch of doubt in his voice that Aziraphale didn’t much care for, but he still was very much taken aback by Crowley’s choice of visiting times.

‘At noon?’

‘M…yeah? Oh… Shit. Sorry. You’re heading out. I didn’t… sorry. That’s stupid of me to assume. Yeah. Well… I… see you around, angel.’

He could hear him mutter a litany of “shit shit shit” as he turned back and tried to leave.

‘Crowley.’

‘Mhm?’

One would assume that someone who uttered more than a hundred “shits” per minute wouldn’t look so aloof when turning around. But then again that particular someone probably hadn’t met Crowley.

‘Come back here. Let’s get you a cup of tea. You look like you’re freezing.’

He always looked like he was freezing. _Maybe do try and dress a bit warmer in the middle of December, dear_ , Aziraphale wanted to say.

‘I really don’t want to muck up your plans, angel. Like I said. It’s rather stupid of me to have assumed you’d be at home anyway. Weren’t you going somewhere? Family stuff and whatnot.’

‘Nowhere of import. It can be rescheduled without too much fuss. Now come on, come in before you catch a cold, you silly man.’

‘Well, if you’re sure…’

There was still a note of uncertainty in Crowley’s tone but he wouldn’t say no to being invited inside the bookshop, not if he could help it.

So he followed Aziraphale back inside, holding on to his canvas bag like it was a life line.

‘Do make yourself comfortable, dear boy. I’ll put the kettle on and be right back.’

True to his word, Aziraphale was back five minutes later with some gingerbread biscuits and two mugs of steaming black tea that he placed on the coffee table while eyeing the package that had appeared in Crowley’s lap with interest.

To be fair the way Crowley was toying with it, all nervous fingers and the like, was the main reason that his interest was drawn to it.

‘What’s that, my dear?’

‘Oh it’s nothin’. Just um… saw it and thought of y… hem… though it would look good on your mantle. All Christmas-y and stuff.’

‘That is not a word.’

‘Just shut up and… here,’ Crowley extended the package towards Aziraphale without making any proper eye contact and even cleared his throat once the gift had exchanged hands.

Aziraphale sat down in his armchair and pried open the wrappings that could have probably been better managed by a five-year-old by the sight of it. Inside there was a box that had seen better days and inside of that there was a snow globe.

Its base was heavily decorated with leaves and holly and it had been golden at some point and in the middle of the now moving “snowflakes” there was a quaint little cottage with green shutters and a thatched roof and it looked like something out of a fairy-tale altogether.

‘I know it’s not new, but I figured… since you seem to like old stuff….’

‘It’s perfect, Crowley, thank you!’ Aziraphale smiled widely and cradled the snow globe to his chest like his most prized possession.

‘‘S noting, angel.’

‘It’s not nothing. It’s very precious,’ Aziraphale smiled some more and gave it a little shake, his eyes absolutely shining as he looked at the flakes.

Crowley devoured the blissful look on the angel’s face with a probably slightly obvious expression and, not for the first time, thanked whoever had invented sunglasses and wished them the best in the afterlife.

What stuck him as odd was that Aziraphale wasn’t wearing his usual beiges and tartan and soft argyle sweaters. He was dressed in a dove grey three-piece suit with a white dresshirt and a navy-blue bow tie. He looked spectacular, of course. He looked spectacular in everything but the change of fashion seemed like something that Crowley should remark upon.

‘What’s with the makeover?’

‘What was that, my dear?’ Aziraphale asked from in front of the fireplace where he had gently placed the snow globe on the mantle.

‘The whole…’ Crowley waved his hand around.

‘Oh this? Oh, right. I just remembered I do have to make a phone call. Forget my own head next. Just give me a minute.’

‘You look good in it, angel. Very handsome. Very dashing,’ Crowley called after him and was rewarded with that particular brand of smile that had Aziraphale’s eyes twinkle.

It was Crowley’s favourite brand of angelic smiles.

‘Hello?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Oh yes, hello Gabriel. It’s me.’

‘What is it, Aziraphale?’

‘I just called to inform you that I shan’t be able to attend this year’s Christmas meal. Terribly sorry, dear fellow. Do send my regards to Michael and all of the staff, too. Nasty stomach bug, you know how it is,’ Aziraphale couldn’t help but retain the smile in his voice at hearing Crowley call him handsome as if it was nothing. As if it was something that one might say in passing, especially about him.

‘Yes, well, I shouldn’t even be surprised that you would go around stuffing your face with god knows what knowing that you’d come here for lunch anyway.’

‘Yes. Um. Rather.’

‘At least make sure that doesn’t keep you from your book deadline. I want the next three chapters before New Year’s.’

‘Oh, but that’s impossi –‘

The line disconnected.

‘Oh. Right then.’

Aziraphale placed the phone back in its hook and stared at it for quite a while, smile long gone.

He made his way to the backroom eventually and sat opposite Crowley, urging him to eat some biscuits.

But his heart really wasn’t in it, and it was obvious enough for the other man to notice.

He had envisioned a calm day spent in front of the fire with Crowley talking books and nonsense and drinking tea and if that wasn’t the perfect way to spend Christmas he didn’t know what was.

He was actually rather grateful to see Crowley come visit as he had a perfect excuse to cancel his family plans without feeling completely guilty about it.

But of course Gabriel had found a way of ruining his good mood. _It was what he did best, wasn’t it?_

Crowley instantly realised there was something seriously wrong with the angel and tried to appease him with biscuits, fact that made Aziraphale become even more unresponsive to normal dialogue, busying himself with the hem of his waistcoat that he tried to tug at as much as possible all the while saying that it was better if he laid off the sweets for a while.

_This was definitely not good._

Crowley tried not to pry the best he could but it was almost a physical itch to get Aziraphale to spill the beans at what had him all put out like that.

All he knew was that he had gone inside the bookshop proper to call someone and he came back a bundle of nerves and dejection.

Crowley hoped that whoever Aziraphale had called would get shat on by a flock of angry seagulls on a daily basis for a month. And he hoped they would miss every possible bus or train they could. And mistake salt for sugar in their coffee and, if whatever powers that be ever listened to him, to always realise they only had 5% battery power on their phone just after they left the house.

He tried in vain to make funny jabs at Aziraphale’s favourite writers and to ask as many questions as possible about how the angel’s story was progressing and to all of those Aziraphale replied with short, meek, calculated answers and short smiles that were gone in seconds and never reached his eyes. This brand of Aziraphalean smiles Crowley did not much care for. At all, actually.

‘Wait a moment, angel. I need to make a call,’ he got up from the couch and headed to the front of the shop himself.

Aziraphale nodded absentmindedly and kept staring at his own fidgeting fingers.

Crowley glanced back to make sure he wouldn’t be overheard and dialled a number on his phone.

‘Yeah, hello. Deidre? Mhm. Yeah. Listen. Could you do me the biggest of favours? I promise I will babysit until the kids finish Uni. Mhm. Yeah. You’re a peach. So listen…’

43 Worst case scenario maybe three.

44 Which, Aziraphale didn’t think that flimsy after all.

45 Or, if not, then at least make him retch loudly.

46 Namely Gabriel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as ever, to my wonderful beta, [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose) for her infinite patience. I do enjoy our late night chats immensely!


	10. ...there was a young lord and his friends...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some The Them shenanigans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot stress enough how sorry I am about the delay in posting. I have absolutely no excuse. I am a horrible horrible person and I do hope I haven't managed to make half of the people reading this give it up because I can't stick to a very basic posting schedule.  
> A million apologies again and I do hope you still stick with this mess of a story despite me disappearing into the fog for three weeks like that.
> 
> I want to mention that this takes place before Bee tells Crowley that Aziraphale is gay. He is THAT blind/useless.

** Sunday, December 16th **

They had decided on Regent Park today for reasons that none of them seemed to remember and Crowley was disappointed to see there weren’t any ducks around.

He said as much.

‘I frankly don’t understand your obsession, dear. They are quaint and I like seeing them swim around, but honestly...’

‘They are not quaint, angel. They are despicable terrors. Imagine if you could ride one into battle.’

‘I think you would have to do most of the legwork. Considering their size and all.’

‘No, I mean… if they were like horse-sized or somethin’. Their enemies would flee in terror.’

‘I would flee in terror. The reason would be that I’d fear someone started meddling with genetics.’

‘Shut up. _OOOOh_ , or geese. Imagine riding those. The enemy army would be completely decimated by those vicious killing machines.’

‘Why are you like this?’

‘You know, I tend to ask myself that every day,’ Crowley smirked at him and got a fond but exasperated look in return.

‘Might be a bit of a problem with that though?’

‘With what?’

‘Warrior stallion geese.’

‘And that is? Other then the obvious, I mean…’

‘They might turn on you. Might turn you over to the enemy, those fucks.’

‘ _Crowley!_ ’

This was hissed through gritted teeth as they passed a rather put-off mother that covered her daughter's ears in a very obvious and, frankly, a bit on the nose manner. Or at least that’s what Crowley thought anyway.

That girl was ten. There was no way it would be the first time for her to hear a swearword.

So he continued, regardless of the angel’s interruption.

‘And that is to say if they don’t slaughter and kill you first. Devil’s animals, geese.’

‘Crowley we were talking about cavalry warfare in the sixteen hundreds.’

‘Precisely. Where do you think the ducks as war stallions inspiration came from? And yeah, I guess I’d stick to ducks in the end, even if geese would go in for the kill. It’s just disconcerting thinking about a six feet tall goose.

‘Everything about this conversation is disconcerting.’

‘Don’t be a bore, angel.’

Aziraphale was just on the verge of protesting him being called a bore when Crowley pulled out his phone and raised a finger at him to instruct him to wait a moment.

**[16:09]** where r u?

_Ah, shit!_

**[16:09]** mum’s gonna be hella mad if you don’t show up

**[16:09]** i kno kid. omw

‘Angel… I messed up. I thought I’d have to babysit tomorrow but it’s today actually and I really really need to get there like now. I… I’ll make it up to you. I promise.’

‘Whatever could you possibly mean?’

‘I mean… after bailing on you like this.’

‘Oh. _Oh._ I thought I could tag along. How silly of me.’

‘Wait _what_? No… I mean…It’s not silly. But why would you want that? It’s just kids.’

‘Well you did promise a nice afternoon in the great outdoors.’

‘Freezing-my-balls-off outdoors more like.’

‘ _Crowley!_ ’

‘Yes angel?’ he managed in a sing-song voice that Aziraphale came to associate with his bastardy moments.

‘You really are a pest.’

‘I try. But I mean it, angel. Don’t feel obligated. Not on my part, at least. I’m sure you’ll easily get bored.’

‘I don’t think that’s possible.’

‘How do you reckon?’

‘Well, you’ll be there for a start.’

Crowley could feel his heart nearly explode in his chest at that.

‘Ngk,’ he managed, all intelligent like.

Aziraphale must have realised what slipped out of his mouth because he instantly turned a very novel shade of red and cleared his throat looking at anything but his companion who was sitting in the middle of the pathway stiff as a plank.

‘And entertain me with all of your wild gigantic geese theories, is what I meant,’ Aziraphale mentally congratulated himself for the very apt save.

\---

Crowley’s meeting spot with the kids was St Martin’s Gardens which was one of the least dirty public gardens in Camden and also rather close to where all of the little menaces lived.

He had befriended them some months back when he was enjoying pestering people on Twitter while sitting under an oak tree in the much needed, but not often present, summer sun. The Great British Summer. _What an absolute riot._

He enjoyed spending his lazy afternoons in parks and he enjoyed the sunlight and the heat so he was leaning against an oak tree and snorting at himself as he engaged in quite a heated debate with some flat-earthers when a bunch of children ganged up on him. _Aw, come on, they were just reaching cloud-people levels of imbecility. Not fair! This was a fucking gold mine._

He groaned at having to give up his extraordinarily convoluted exchange and stared at the kids who blocked his sunlight.

‘Yes?’ he drawled, going for a combination of put-off and at the same time dangerous stranger that none of the four kids actually bought.

‘That’s our tree. You are sitting under our tree.’

‘Public park. Public tree. Now bugger off.’

‘Actually -’

‘I think that’s rather rude of you.’

This was said by the only girl of the group as she crossed her arms over her chest. She seemed opinionated. Which was generally a good thing. Crowley liked to encourage that. But now they were getting on his nerves a bit.

‘Listen, kid...’

‘No, you listen. I realise that being raised up as a white man makes you believe you’re better than everyone else but that gives you absolutely no reason to be rude. I think you should apologise to my friends and me,’ the girl soldiered on.

‘Okay, fine, sorry for being a bit of a knob. I am still not moving, though. First come first served and you kids need to learn that early in life.’

There were some grumbles but they pretty much left him alone after that even if they threw put-out looks at him every now and again that Crowley elegantly pretended not to notice.

\---

He had taken quite the liking to St Martin’s gardens ever since he had moved in with Bea, a fortnight ago. It was still early summer but the sun was shining and everything was green and lush and frankly anything beats an underground mouldy flat or a greasy diner.

So it was two days later that he was accosted again.

‘What’s that?’

_Oh, good Lord. It was those damn kids, again._

‘A notebook.’

‘Don’t be cheeky,’ the dark-skinned girl admonished him. He quite liked her. On the other hand, Crowley did have the emotional and mental maturity of a ten-year-old so he continued to act as difficult as humanly possible.

The curly haired blond boy sat down next to him and peeked at his notes.

‘What are you writing?’

 _There was no escaping, apparently_ , Crowley realised as a scruffy looking mutt started sniffing his leg and apparently deemed him satisfactory enough to lay down, head perched on his knee. Those white, coarse hairs would be a pain to get out of his clothes. _Fun times._

He still scratched behind the dog’s ears absentmindedly. It was just the thing you did.

‘A story.’

This had the blond boy perk up visibly and he scooted even closer to look at the notebook.

‘I wrote a story once, you know?’

The other three kids saw this as their cue to sit down on the grass as well. If was apparently the vote of confidence they needed to trust this stranger and the blond kid seemed to be the leader of their whole gang.

‘My story was about a pirate who was also a detective and it was set in space. Oh, and it had dinosaurs.’

‘Dinosaurs in space? Bold move, kid. I like it.’

The kid in question perked up even more at that.

‘I’m Adam, by the way. And this is Pepper and Wensleydale and Brian.’

Crowley instantly forgot all of their names.

‘So what’s your story about? I bet mine is way more interesting.’

‘I should certainly hope so seeing as there’s space dinosaurs involved.’

The gang nodded. He seemed to be the first adult to understand the sheer awesomeness of space dinosaurs. Most of the others had just tried explaining boring stuff about lack of atmosphere and the dinosaurs being extinct and other not fun stuff that would nullify Adam’s premise.

‘So, what’s it about? Does it have any pirates in it?’

‘No, but it has wizards and witches. And elves.’

‘Actually, there’s no such thing as witches anymore,’ the bespectacled kid said but he got a frown from the blond one. It was as close as saying that dinosaurs no longer existed and that was dangerous boring adult territory. Even if, as Crowley looked at the kid, he could see that he was born at with a forty-year-old mindset and already veering dangerously towards accountancy.

‘I don’t like elves.’

‘Who the hell doesn’t like elves, kid?’ he directed this at the only girl in the group who pouted at him for a little bit.

He would later find out why exactly the girl – _was it the rest of the gang called her? Piper? Pearl? Poppy?_ – disliked elves. Or maybe not so much elves as her mother’s preferred literary inspiration when it came to baby names. And then he laughed and laughed.

Crowley suspected some substances of a certain kind had been involved and Pippin’s mum47 was more into seeing swirly colourful patterns on the ceiling than she was into Tolkien, but there you had it.

‘I just don’t. No racial equality,’ she replied, completely ignoring the main reason.

‘Fair point.’

‘So, about this story of yours?’

‘Yeah, well, you see there’s this fantasy land. There’s elves and fairies and dwarfs and the like. Humans too, of course. There’s four kingdoms, each of them based on one of the four elements. So you have the kingdom of water -’

‘So you do have pirates!’

‘Well, I suppose it’s only fair that some of the people in the water kingdom are pirates, yeah. But most are traders and sailors.’

‘Buccaneers! And they probably have hidden treasures and stuff.’

‘X marks the spot!’

They started talking about pirates for a while and Crowley couldn’t help but snort at their zero-attention span.

‘And people in the air one?’

‘Well, some of them build impressive-looking flying contraptions. And some… well, some have wings. And they live up some very very tall mountains, very very close to the sky.’

‘That’s cool. You could do a lot of wicked things with wings.’

‘Yeah imagine all the flying tricks you could pull.’

‘You could like dive off a cliff – _whoosh_ and then at the last second _bam_! Be in in the air again. And everyone would clap and cheer and stuff.’

‘Actually, you would need to have some very big wings for that.’

‘That’s good then since they _do_ have really big wings,’ Crowley smiled. He liked talking story in general but had a hard time actually bringing it up in adult conversation.

Bee would sometimes goad him into writing snippets about the kingdom of fire. They liked that because it had –

‘Oh! Dragons!’

‘What?’

‘The fire people have to have dragons!’ the curly haired boy exclaimed.

‘I’d like a dragon,’ the girl declared. ‘A shiny red one. I could ride it into battle.’

‘They do have dragons. And sure. You could all have whatever dragons you wanted in my imaginary kingdom.’

‘I’d like a big green one with fangs and everything. And I could ride around and it could breathe fire on people,’ the lankiest of the kids said. Crowley made a note not to shake hands with him. He looked grimy.

‘I’d actually like one of those old dragons that is really smart and talks to you. That lives in a cave somewhere and people go there so seek his wisdom.’

‘That sounds boring.’

‘It’s not actually boring. He would be smarter than all of your dragons.’

‘Yeah but what if I had this huge dragon that is three times the size of yours and he comes and burns your cave down. I could probably name him Draco The Destroyer.’

That got him a couple of nods all around. That seemed like a valid name to the lot of them.

Crowley would later find out that the mutt that was keeping his leg warm was called Dog, so that made a lot of sense in context.

The kids started talking some more about dragons as Crowley continued writing, only slightly being bothered by the occasional – ‘I will burn down your fields you weak mortals!’ and what could, if one was very lax in their definition, be described as angry dragon noises.

It was probably dusk when the dragon talk ended and the bunch of kids sat down again probably to bug him some more, Crowley surmised.

‘What about the guys in the earth one?’

‘What?’

‘What super power do they have?’

‘I don’t think they have one. They do have resources though.’

‘That sounds boring.’

‘Well…maybe. But resources are very important. And they trade them for other stuff. They’re the only ones with lots of forests and fields of grain and barley. They make cloth and ale and mead and are quite skilful hunters. So a lot of salted meats come from there and the people in the other kingdoms pay for them. It’s not a very fertile land, the kingdom of fire, when you stop and think about it. Lots of volcanoes all around.’

‘Well I guess, but I don’t see why I’d have to pay money for stuff if I had a great big dragon. I could just set fire to things and then just take the grains and stuff.’

‘Ah, well,’ Crowley smiled a wide smile and mentally started preparing himself to elaborate on the importance of exchanging money for goods and services and try to explain how economy worked to a bunch of eleven-year-olds when he was interrupted by a blur of movement heading their way.

‘Adam Young!’

‘Oh boy,’ Crowley heard the blond kid groan.

‘You are in serious trouble, young man. What time did I tell you to be home?’

‘Six.’

‘Mhm. And what time is it now?’

‘I dunno.’

‘It’s eight. Your father and I were worried sick. As for the rest of you lot, I imagine your parents will want to have a couple of words with you as well,’ the small but fierce looking blonde lady wagged her finger at them. And then she looked around more attentively to assess the situation and spotted Crowley.

‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry if the kids pestered you, sir. It won’t happen again,’ she said as she threw an icy glare at the blond boy. ‘What did I tell you about bugging strangers?’

‘It’s fine. They weren’t any trouble.’

‘You know not everyone appreciates you cheeky lot sticking your noses in their private business. Now apologise to the kind gentleman.’

‘Nah, they really weren’t a bother. Quite vivid imaginations too,’ Crowley emphasized, quite taken aback at being called a “gentleman”.

‘Tell me about it,’ she snorted but her expression was that of profound gratefulness that he was being alright with the whole thing. ‘So, they really didn’t bother you, mister…’

‘Crowley,’ he said as he got up and extended a hand. It was the polite thing to do. Especially after being called a gentleman. ‘And no, not at all. We were actually talking about dragons.’

‘Why doesn’t that surprise me,’ the woman said and patted the boy’s curls with a fond but slightly exasperated expression.

‘He is writing a story, mum. It has elves and dwarfs and dragons and stuff,’ Adam beamed at her.

‘Is that so? Well, I suppose that’s alright then. I’m Deidre, by the way. Deidre Young. And this little menace right here is my son, Adam.’

‘Quite the little Hellspawn. No offence.’

‘None taken,’ she said as she chuckled for a bit. ‘Might even start calling him that around the house. I know his father will certainly approve of the title.’

The kids gathered up their bikes with put-off expressions.

‘Well, it’s been a pleasure, Mr. Crowley. And again, sorry for the little pests.’

Crowley gave her a mock two finger salute and turned back to his notebook and various mismatched pages of notes even if it was starting to get dark by now.

The next time the kids came to bother him was three days later and when Deidre finally came to take them all home they were debating the appropriate lengths of dwarf beards as Pepper’s declared that lady dwarfs should be able to grow their beards as long as they wished, _thank you very much_.

He found out by now that Pepper’s mum wasn’t at home that much and anyway thought that she was always safe whenever she went out with the rest of the gang. That isn’t to say that she hadn’t paid for her daughter to get some karate lessons and, after a brief demonstration where she had _what’s his face – grubby kid_ \- pinned to the ground, Crowley came to the conclusion that she was the most dangerous kid out of the whole group.

Next time he met the kids he found out about Brian’s dad working two jobs and his mum having to take care of his two younger siblings and about Wensleydale’s parents being accountants48. And that he was actually called Jeremy.49

He also found out that none of their parents much minded them roaming about the neighbourhood as long as they stayed together. They apparently were causing much more havoc inside than out.

By the tenth time Deidre came looking for them and found them in an intense discussion concerning magical artefacts and hidden riddles, Crowley was granted an honest smile and a very fond expression.

‘I cannot express how grateful I am, Mr. Crowley.’

‘Just Crowley,’ he wanted to make the “mister Crowley is my father” joke but didn’t have it in him.

‘Just Crowley then. I really do hope they’re not too much of a bother. It’s just that the house is very small and whenever Arthur comes home – that’s my husband – and I am on a night shift I just cannot leave the two of them alone, not to mention the lot of them together. And since we’re the only ones with a garden, they usually gather up at our place. Arthur’s always so tired and Adam… well, he can be a handful at times. That’s why we got Dog for him to play with. But he has such a wild imagination. Should have known it wouldn’t be enough,’ she smiled some more and it was obvious from her expression how much she actually enjoyed her son being a bit of a wild card in spite of her words.

And thus he learned that Deidre was a nurse and sometimes would have to take night shifts and whenever that happened when Arthur also had late evenings shifts it would result in utter chaos if the kids were to spend time indoors.

The last time they had made a huge pillow fort in the middle of their living room. The time before that they wanted to play mummies and depleted their stash of toilet paper. Deidre had had to clean the house for days. There had been a food fight at some point but even the Them knew better than doing that now.

So the great outdoors it was for all of them.

They apparently all lived in the same building, minus the “Actually” kid who lived across the street and they lived maybe ten minutes away from Bea’s flat, Crowley realised, so they were all in a pretty close range, gardens in between the lot of them so it would have been nearly impossible not to bump into each other quite a lot.

‘Listen, Deidre – mind if I call you that?’

She shook her head.

‘There is absolutely no biggie to take them off your hands when I’m not working. They are honestly a riot – but hey, don’t let them hear I said that. It’s not like my schedule is all that full and I mostly do night shifts anyway. No one should eat that grub while sober. Or _at all_ , for that matter.’

Deidre laughed out loud but took one of his hands and squeezed it tightly.

‘Thank you! Really. I mean it. You’re a godsend.’

Crowley wanted to snort at that.

\---

They had decided to walk in the end. This happened partly because Crowley realised that his Oyster card had absolutely zero trips left on it and partly because _‘nah, I just can’t imagine you taking the tube, angel. It would be like something out of a time-travel tale. The gates would just explode, or something.’_

Aziraphale tutted slightly at him but acquiesced to the leisurely stroll.

It was already dark when they arrived in the gardens, but that’s the way it used to get lately and it was not like the area was all that dangerous to begin with. And Crowley sometimes walked the kids home since he lived only a few blocks away.

It had been decided unanimously by all of their parents that as long as they were staying with Crowley they could stay out as late as eight in the evening if only to give them some well-deserved peace and quiet.

This has all started on Deidre’s night shifts but after meeting up with Arthur at the local pub one evening both Brian and Jeremy’s dads had been instantly convinced about the whole thing.

It appeared that the kids had already started enacting one of the scenes of his stories since they were quite smitten with them by this point.

‘Crowley!’

‘Hey there Hellspawn. Rest of you hellions.’

The gang stopped pointing sticks at one another and gave him a wide array of greetings from pouts to wide grins.

‘You’re an hour late, you know?’

‘What can I say kid, I forgot. Shit happens.’

That seemed like a decent enough explanation for the children, Aziraphale surmised as they nodded sagely at that.

‘It’s good that you’re here, actually since we had no one to play the seamstress.’

‘Wasn’t Pippin the seamstress last time?’

‘That’s just sexist! I want to play the page boy. It’s not right letting Adam have all the fun just because he’s a boy.’

‘It’s alright, I don’t mind. I’m playing the wicked princess this time around. Look, Wensley’s mum made us crowns and all,’ he pointed at a sparkly crown with glitter all over that resided on top of his winter hat. ‘And Brian is the evil captain and Wensley is the wizard.’

Wensleydale pointed proudly at his pointy hat.

‘But we still need someone to be the seamstress and the fairy queen.’

Aziraphale looked at the children with the confused look adults everywhere did after not having interacted with any single one.

‘Crowley, are you… re-enacting Faeriedance?’

‘We are indeed, angel. These lil’ shits seem to like it.’

The little shits in question beamed at him.

‘Who’s your friend? Can he play the fairy queen?’ the blond boy asked since that was apparently the most important piece of information.

‘This, you lot, is mister Fell. He is a very important writer and he certainly won’t play silly buggers with a bunch of kids,’ Crowley declared, almost protectively offering Aziraphale a smile that said _“sorry you have to put up with this”_.

Aziraphale treated him with a reassuring smile in return.

‘I’m sure there’s no bother,’ he offered and tried to squeeze Crowley’s shoulder but realised what he was doing and drew back his hand immediately.

‘See, Crowley? He says it’s no bother. But you have to wear the crown if you want to play.’

‘Hellspawn…’ Crowley warned him.

‘Nono, it’s fine. Of course I’ll wear the crown.’

‘And Crowley I need to braid your hair,’ the girl announced and Aziraphale couldn’t supress a sigh at the mere idea of being able of touch Crowley’s head so casually. ‘The seamstress has braids in her hair.’

‘And when have you lot decided that? Hellspawn was playing her two weeks ago and I saw no braids.’

‘Adam has stupid hair that doesn’t braid properly.’

‘I do not!’ the blond kid protested and then a small fighting match began just as Crowley slid close to Aziraphale to have a shushed discussion as the children were otherwise engaged.

‘Angel, there’s no reason to get dragged into this, you know? They can be quite the handful. And they won’t go easy on you just because you’re a stranger.’

‘Nonsense, my dear. I loved that story dearly and the children seem quite delightful,’ he said as he gave a happy little wiggle and placed his basket and mitts on the nearest bench only to be able to place his newly acquired crown on his head. It was pink and glittery.

Crowley opened his mouth to protest the word “delightful” ever being used in relation to the little devils but upon seeing Aziraphale don that shiny monstrosity quickly closed it again for fear of laughing out loud for a full minute.

By this point the children were looking at him expectantly. Pippin even had her arms crossed over her chest in proper Pippin fashion.

‘Okay, right. You lot, this is Aziraphale. Angel, this is Hellspawn, Pippin, Actually and Pleasedontlayafingeronthatjeeez!’

Aziraphale smiled warmly at the children and shook all of their hands despite his serious misgivings about Pleasedontlayafingeronthatjeeez’s hand. He considered wiping his own hand on his coat but then thought better of it since it was an impeccable coat and let it be.

The blond boy rolled his eyes at Crowley.

‘I’m Adam. This is Pepper and Wensleydale and Brian. Crowley is just being difficult.’

Crowley shrugged like he couldn’t be bothered but he threw himself down on the bench and let Pepper go to town on his hair.

Aziraphale couldn’t take his eyes off it and the delicate braids that now adorned half of it so he decided to busy himself with something, anything.

‘Oh,’ he exclaimed as he remembered his basket. ‘Would anyone like hot cocoa? And scones?’

There was a series of vigorous nods and a slightly unconvinced one coming from the boy called Wensleydale. In the end they all took a cup of cocoa from Aziraphale’s thermos and made quick work of his scones, Brian even pocketing two extra for the road.

They all seemed fascinated to have an actual writer in their midst and pestered Aziraphale with all kinds of questions while Crowley kept quiet and observed the whole scene with possibly the most besotted look known to man.

‘History’s boring,’ Brian declared at some point and that would have seriously ruffled Aziraphale’s feathers were it an adult making that particular comment.

‘Nah, kid,’ Crowley finally thought to intervene as he knew he was already treading on thin ice with Aziraphale and subjecting him to the kids’ enthusiasm completely out of the blue like that. ‘History’s just fantasy but without the dragons.’

Aziraphale chuckled.

‘I’d say what Crowley tried to express is that fantasy is history with dragons added in.’

‘You say potato…’

‘So, are we actually going to play? It’s just that mum expects me back home in time for dinner.’

‘Yes, yes of course. So sorry to stall the proceedings.’

‘Nah, it’s alright,’ Adam said dismissively. ‘You offered us sweets and stuff. Like the fairy queen would do. So it’s alright.’

‘She would?’ Aziraphale looked at Crowley cocking up an eyebrow.

‘Don’t look at me, angel. They basically rewrote the whole story so don’t act surprised if nothing makes sense to you.’

‘They did?’

‘Yeah, there weren’t enough dashing swordfights,’ Pepper said as she wielded her tree branch menacingly at the lot of them.

‘And not nearly enough swinging down from chandeliers,’ Adam added.

‘I see,’ Aziraphale said with a serious expression on his face and sat down on the bench.

‘Okay you lot. Let’s do this,’ Crowley clapped his hands together and got up before he turned around on his heels and started rummaging in his canvas bag. ‘Nearly forgot, angel. This is for you,’ he said as he pulled out a pink camellia from inside.

Aziraphale stared at the flower for a while, his face perfectly matching the colour of the flower by the time he gently picked it from Crowley’s hand and placed it in the pocket of his winter coat.

Crowley was doing his best to avoid his gaze and Aziraphale could swear that his cheeks were also slightly redder than they had been a minute ago. _It must have been the cold_. Not that that colour didn’t look dashing on Crowley. _Everything looked dashing on Crowley_ , if he was to be at all honest with himself.

‘Well, mmm, just thought it made a nice addition to the crown, is all.’

Aziraphale hummed in response. He would not call Crowley out on it but that didn’t explain why he was carrying it around in the first place when he had apparently forgotten that he was supposed to meet up with the children completely. Or when he couldn’t have known that they were going to make him play along and give him a pink crown. Not to mention the connotation...

He kept his eyes down for a bit in order to get his bearings about him as hell on Earth seemed to unleash around him.

He didn’t need to do much in his role as fairy queen, but all of the other kids plus Crowley were all over the place, fighting with mock swords, climbing atop the backrest of the bench50, and completely reinterpreting the sweet and tame ending of Crowley’s short story. At least Crowley didn’t seem to mind, playing along with a wide smile on his face.

Aziraphale, for his part, drank one more cup of cocoa and watched them all enthralled.

This was not something that he had any idea he would enjoy. He had gone along with it because he simply could not even bear to consider cutting his afternoon with Crowley short. But he realised that he started to laugh out loud on more than one occasion at the sheer audacity of whatever the children came up with. Not to mention Crowley doing impressions with that utterly devastating smirk on his face.

This was a side of the man that he had never thought he would ever see and his small crush threatened to become a full blown one, bordering on plain infatuation.

He seemed so happy and at ease and right in his element. It felt precious.

And the children were a delight.

Which was, again, not something that he thought he would ever even think about a bunch of children. In his experience, children were screaming brats that treated his books badly whenever any of them happened to accompany an adult to his bookshop.

These kids were loud, of course they were, they were kids after all. But they were also imaginative and curious and bright.

At some point, much sooner than he cared for, Crowley’s mobile started ringing.

It was blaring Queen at them, because, of course it was. Aziraphale might have not have known Crowley for a long time, but he was already very very familiar with his taste in music.

Crowley’s shoulders sagged as “Don’t stop me now” continued to play and there was a general groan from all of the children.

‘Enough of that, you lot,’ he warned as he fished for his phone into one of his coat pockets. ‘Them’s the rules and you all know it.’

There was an even louder groan.

‘Yeah. Hey, Deidre. Yeah, sure thing. We’ll be on our way. Nahaaah, you lot shut it!’ he hissed at the kids that collectively crossed their arms and pouted. ‘A deal’s a deal. Yeah, Deidre, sorry bout that. Pie? You know you don’t need to… fine. Apple pie. No! That’s just too much. No. I won’t have it. No. I can’t be swayed.’

Aziraphale was amused by the whole exchange as he saw Crowley sigh in defeat.

‘Yeah. Fine. Rosemary steak. And buttered potatoes. But only because Bee likes them. I swear you’re as bad as Adam sometimes. Can’t take no for an answer. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll make sure. Cheers. You’re still a menace, though.’

He pocketed his phone and pointed at Adam accusingly.

‘Your mum’s the worst, you know that?’

‘Nah. She just likes taking care of people. And she says you’d waste away if it weren’t for her home cooked meals every now and then.’

Aziraphale had to agree to the sentiment. From what he had observed so far Crowley survived on a strict diet of coffee, alcohol and mischief alone. And he was entirely too skinny. _Well_ , that wasn’t right. _He was perfect_ , Aziraphale mused as he threw the man a look that he shouldn’t probably be throwing him in the company of children and fantasised a bit about those serpentine hips of his.

_Get a grip on yourself! That is altogether inappropriate!_

Crowley inspected his wrist watch and then snapped his fingers a couple of times at the kids.

‘Come on. Chop Chop! I need to get you lot home before I go home and change for work. Gather your stuff up.’

There were a couple of grumbles but the children complied quickly enough.

The crowns and hats and fake swords were all packed up and they all got back to their bikes.

‘We can head back on our own, you know?’ Adam suggested. ‘In case you want to walk your friend home?’

Crowley avoided everyone’s gaze, kicking at a pebble with more concentration than actually necessary as he replied with a string of not particularly intelligible sounds.

‘Oh, dear boy. Won’t your parents worry?’ Aziraphale felt the need to inquire.

‘Nah, we used to hang out late even before we met Crowley. Plus. We’re eleven now. We’re practically grown-ups.’

Aziraphale did not correct him. Nor did he protest any further.

An evening stroll with Crowley would be quite nice.

‘I mean, if you’re sure, kiddo?’

‘Positive. I’ll tell mum you said hi.’

And with that the four of them were off before any of the two adults had another chance to protest.

‘I guess it’s just the two of us, angel.’

‘I guess it is. I’ll have you know I had a wonderful time.’

‘Don’t do that.’

‘Do what?’

‘Lie to make me feel better about spoiling our afternoon plans.’

‘No, I mean it! The children were lovely. And you are so good with them, my dear. You’re a natural.’

Crowley stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged but Aziraphale noticed the pink hue on his cheeks.

‘I was a bit worried that they would upset you when they completely changed – well, _embellished_ – the ending of the story.’

‘Now why would I get upset? It’s a story for kids. If they get involved it means they like it. My mum would have loved that.’

‘I’m sure she would have.’

‘Come on, angel. Let’s. Long way from Camden to Soho and back again.’

Aziraphale’s face nearly fell.

‘Oh, what was I thinking, of course you can’t walk me all the way to Soho. How silly of me.’

‘That’s not what I said, angel.’

‘No no. Out of the question. You need to go and change before your shift and everything,’ Aziraphale continued fretting, his hands toying with the handle of the basket as they walked towards Bayham street.

‘Angel. I told the little buggers I’ll walk you home. I’m walking you home. Now stop fussing.’

Aziraphale threw him a side glance but Crowley was staring pointedly ahead, hands stuck in his small pockets and nose buried in his crimson scarf.

There seemed to be no swaying him so Aziraphale trailed after him in silence for a while before reverting to their usual history banter as easily as learning to ride a velocipede again.

So it was quite a shock for him to find himself in front of the bookshop what seemed like mere minutes later, despite him knowing well enough that it wasn’t the case.

‘I guess this is me. It’s been a lovely afternoon and evening, Crowley. I mean it. And if the children ever want to visit the shop they are more than welcome.’

‘As long as they don’t want to buy anything.’

‘I rather thought that went without saying.’

Crowley let out a bark of laughter.

‘Of course it did. You are something else, you are.’

‘I do mean it. You’re all welcome, anytime. This was the most fun I’ve had in ages. And thank you…for the flower.’

Crowley managed some mumbled acknowledgement of that and shrugged.

‘Are you certain you don’t…’

‘Don’t what, angel?’

Aziraphale stared at the flower but then shook his head.

‘Nothing, my dear. Forget I said anything. We’ll talk tomorrow, yes?’

‘Sure thing, angel. Whatever you want.’

 _Oh, this had absolutely no way of ending up good for neither of them_ , Aziraphale thought to himself as he locked the door after himself and drew a deep breath. _And especially not for him._

47Because how could he not call her that – that was pure comedic gold.

48What an utter shock.

49Not that he remembered that name either. For now he had taken to calling the kids: Hellspawn, Pippin, Actually and Oi! Don’t touch me!

50Which he thought rather dangerous especially as they tried doing acrobatics while perched on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose) for beta-ing, you are an absolute darling!


	11. ...there was a storyteller...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley manages to get Aziraphale out of his funk. With a bit of outside help, of course.
> 
> CW: misgendering but Bee will rise above/ plot to set that guy on fire (Bee's equivalent of rising above) :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to upload this *ALMOST* on time so I am feeling mighty proud :D
> 
> As ever, thank you so so much, [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose) for being an absolute blast! <3<3<3

** Tuesday, December 25th **

Crowley hung up the phone and headed back to find Aziraphale in the same sullen mood as before, fact that made all of the little voices inside his head scream in blind rage. The angel should never, _ever_ have to feel bad about anything. And Crowley didn’t even know what it was so that he could fix it. All he knew was that he had left the room in good spirits and came back after his phone call looking like this.

All he wanted to do was wrap his arms around the angel and shower him in kisses, promising everything would be alright. Well, that would certainly be lying since he didn’t even know what the fuck was wrong to begin with.

So instead he tried goading Aziraphale into drinking some tea, realised that the tea had grown cold and then sauntered over to the kitchen to put the kettle on and brew a new batch.

While there he took his time to observe the rather expensive looking coffee machine which he found altogether odd, considering that Aziraphale didn’t even drink coffee to begin with, but dismissed it as something that someone with Aziraphale’s money would buy anyway if it took his fancy and made himself a black coffee while he waited for the water to boil.

Then he returned to the backroom of the shop, cups in hand and placed the tea in front of Aziraphale. It was a cup of lapsang souchong because Crowley thought it would serve best to calm Aziraphale’s nerves.

‘Thank you my dear,’ Aziraphale managed with a weak smile that never reached his eyes.

‘Don’t mention it. Went and made myself a coffee, hope you don’t mind.’

‘Of course not. You can help yourself to whatever you want, anytime.’

‘Okay, angel. Since you don’t want to share with me what made you so hot and bothered I went ahead and done something a bit rash. Hope you don’t mind that either.’

This made Aziraphale’s eyes snap up as he tried his best to deny his behaviour.

‘Hot and bothered? What do you possibly mean?’

‘Mneh,’ Crowley shrugged as if this was an appropriate response.

‘And what did you do, you wily thing?’

‘I guess you’ll see, soon enough. And anyway it’s a surprise. Until then, I will have to entertain you with my wild theories on medieval slugs.’

‘Honestly, Crowley!’

‘I mean it, have you seen the size of those things?’ Crowley chuckled and was pleased to see that Aziraphale’s frown was replaced with what he came to recognise as his bastard pout51.

It must have been almost an hour later when someone knocked on the front door of the shop.

Aziraphale was just on the verge of telling Crowley that medieval monks were certainly not “enjoying that good herb, heh, get it angel? I mean drugs” when his eyes snapped towards the front of the shop.

‘Who could that be? And on Christmas day, too? The nerve on some people!’

‘Come on, angel. Let’s check it out. Might be carol singers.’

‘We don’t get carol singers…’

‘Won’t know until we check it out,’ Crowley managed in a sing-song voice as he was already walking to the front of the shop. Aziraphale had no choice but to follow him.

‘Whoever it is, I will give them quite the talking to, barging in on people on Christmas like this,’ he felt the need to say.

By now his attitude seemed to be far more similar to his usual one, bastard streak an all, but Crowley was not taking any chances.

So he made his way to the door and unlocked it, knowing full well who would be on the other side.

Aziraphale raised a finger and prepared his discourse as his eyes landed on –

‘Oh,’ was all he managed to say, instead.

From the doorframe the four kids were peering inside, gathering in the surroundings.

‘Merry Christmas, mister Fell!’ Adam greeted as a pair of cartoonish reindeer horns jingled on top of his oversized winter hat.

Brian and Pepper were wearing green earmuffs and Wensleydale was wearing a red Santa hat.

They all had rosy cheeks and looked a bit out of breath. And Dog was nowhere to be seen.

‘Well, hello. Come inside, you must be freezing,’ Aziraphale gestured and then, after they all stepped in, peered down the street. ‘Are you alone? Where are you parents?’

‘At home,’ Brian supplied.

‘Oh, good lord. Do they have any idea you are wandering about all on your own like that. Crowley, we have to call them!’

‘It’s all taken care of, angel. They know they’re here. I asked Deidre in person. Well, not in person, over the phone more like.’

‘I… I don’t understand…’

‘You seemed really down and I couldn’t get you out of your funk for shit -’

‘Crowley!’

‘- so I thought, let’s have the little devils around. Maybe they can carol you or something. I seem to remember you enjoyed our little outing last time and they even managed to make you laugh a couple of times.’

Aziraphale looked from the kids who were all beaming at him to Crowley and all he wanted to do was gather that impossible man into the tightest of hugs and never let go.

‘Oh, Crowley that’s so…’

‘If you say nice, angel, I swear,’ Crowley warned and then his attention focused on the kids instead. ‘Coats off, you lot, and put on your best singing voices.’

‘Actually, we don’t know any carols.’

‘You don’t know any… then what’s the use of you anyway?’

‘Crowely, my dear, don’t be rude. It’s perfectly alright. I’ll just bring another plate of biscuits over.’

‘Nah, this lot has to earn their biscuits. What even do you mean you don’t know any carols? What kind of heathens are you? I’m not making you sing “Hark the herald angels sing” for crying out loud. Try something like, I dunno, Jingle Bells or something.’

‘Oh, we know that one,’ Adam smiled widely and they started to reproduce an off-key version of Jingle Bells that missed half the words and each of them sang at their own speed.

 _On second thought, they could do without the singing_ , Crowley decided by the end of it, wanting to drink half of Aziraphale’s liquor cabinet if only to forget whatever the hell _THAT_ had been.

Aziraphale clapped anyway because that was something so quintessentially him that Crowley didn’t even know what else he was expecting, to be honest.

Then the children were directed towards the backroom and Aziraphale hurried over to the kitchen to fix them all some hot cocoa with marshmallows on top.

Crowley eyed the lot of them and raised a warning finger.

‘Now listen here, you lot. Someone got Aziraphale really sad so I want you on your best behaviour. If that is something that is even possible,’ he muttered as an afterthought.

‘Who made him sad?’ Adam inquired with a slight frown. ‘He is such a nice person. Nice people shouldn’t be sad.’

‘I dunno, kiddo. But I plan on finding out and making their life a living hell, you can trust me on that.’

That got him a general hum of approval.

‘Angel, need any help with the mugs?’ Crowley called out and threw the Them another warning look.

‘If it’s not a bother, yes.’

He got up from his squat in front of the couch that all of the kids were sandwiched on and headed towards the kitchen.

‘Sorry again for imposing, angel. I know one does not go around inviting a bunch of feral children to other people’s homes, but I thought, since you seemed to have fun the last time and-’

‘Nonsense my dear. And you do have to stop calling them such ghastly names. I’m more impressed how you got their parents to let them go out on Christmas Day rather than anything else.’

‘Adam’s mum has a soft spot for me,’ Crowley winked and it was obvious despite his glasses.

Aziraphale cocked an eyebrow at him.

‘Get your mind out of the gutter, angel. She is a perfectly respectable married woman. Plus, I don’t swing that way,’ he felt the need to add with another wink for good measure, as he remembered his exchange with Bea.

Aziraphale seemed to blush very visibly and avoid catching his eye at that, so he counted it as a small victory.

‘I just meant I looked after the lot quite a number of times and I did ask her nicely. Not that their parents wouldn’t be thrilled to get the lot out of their hair and enjoy some blessed peace and quiet for once.’

‘But on Christmas day?’ Aziraphale made point out of fumbling with the marshmallows and still avoid Crowley’s inquisitive looks.

_Interesting._

‘Here you go,’ he pushed two mugs in Crowley’s hands, shoo-ing him away towards the backroom with a hand while he was working on the other two with the other.

 _Okay, that would have to do it for now_ , he thought as he brought the mugs to the kids who were already fretting on the couch, obviously quite bored.

‘Settle down. I told you. Best behaviour today.’

‘But there’s nothing to do,’ Brian wailed.

‘Actually, this is quite boring,’ Wensleydale chimed in.

Crowley, having placed the mugs on the coffee table pushed his sunglasses down and narrowed his eyes at the lot of them with what he hoped was a scary expression on his face.

He heard Aziraphale shuffle behind him and pulled the sunglasses up again.

Aziraphale sighed.

Ever since two days ago when he first caught a glimpse of Crowley’s honey-coloured eyes he just couldn’t take his mind off them.

They were like nothing that Aziraphale had even seen in his life.

It was not just the strange colour that made them completely unique but the depth of emotion they conveyed.

Crowley was stunning enough as it was while wearing his sunglasses, but in an unattainable, top model or superstar kind of way. The way he moved like he was on a stage giving his best performance while all eyes were glued to him.

And in all fairness, quite a lot of eyes were glued to him, Aziraphale had realised on their walks and little get-togethers. He couldn’t help but feel a little jealous that all of those people could be able to weigh Crowley up and down like that with their gazes as if he was a commodity. He almost wanted to lock this impossible creature inside the bookshop and never let him go. Not that that was something that would even bear thinking about.

Crowley was such a wild being, all movement and wonder and, frankly, a little bit of chaos dropped in there too.

 _But that was what Crowley showed the entire world, wasn’t it?_ The mask he wore.

The brash language, expansive gestures, almost painted on designer clothes. The way he swung his hips that bordered on obscene. The winks he threw at people who were staring for too long. Even the way he had perfected those winks so as to be extremely obvious, sunglasses or not.

And that brought Aziraphale to his actual point. _Sunglasses._

Crowley used those to keep everyone at arm’s length, he realised.

Because he had never met someone with eyes like that in all of his forty years of life.

It was as if Crowley wore his heart on his sleeve when he looked at you, he was shocked to find out that morning two days ago. They were so open and loving and…vulnerable.

In a way, Aziraphale understood. Especially after Crowley had shared all of those little tit bits that made up the complex tapestry that was the man’s life. Of course he would need a mask. A shield against all of those horrible people that had done and said such horrible things to him. Add to that the light sensitivity and… Aziraphale got it. He did. He didn’t hate the sunglasses any less.

Well, at least the children got to see his eyes, he smiled a half-smile that never reached his eyes and deposited the other two mugs on the table urging everyone to drink their cocoa before it got cold.

And then he sat down in his ancient armchair and fought his hardest not to feel jealous of a bunch of kids, because that was certainly reaching a new low.

Crowley plopped himself down on the floor and finished whatever was left of his cup of coffee before both Adam and Brian decided to join him in sitting on the floor as well.

This earned them some minor fuss, via Aziraphale.

‘Chill down, angel. Kids sit on the floor all the time.’

Aziraphale declared that he had never sat on the floor a day in his life, fighting back a shudder at the thought of his governess telling his parents about such plebeian behaviour.

‘Yeah but that’s just because you were raised with a stick up your bum.’

Some more fuss ensued.

‘Anyhow, gang, entertain Aziraphale.’

‘Crowley! They’re not court jesters or anything. Um, what do you want to do?’ he tried his prize-winning smile at the lot of them, still rather unsure how to treat a bunch of children.

The smile did nothing for the gang that was glancing around thinking about stuff that might hold their interest for long enough. It had the opposite effect on Crowley who was drinking the image of the angel, already looking more at ease by the moment, chin propped on the heel of his palm, elbow on the small coffee table.

It took him a couple of moments to realise the compromising position that he was in, swooning like a teenage fan girl like that and adjusted his posture to one of languid detachment instead.

‘I mean you could always tell them about Agincourt, angel.’

‘What? There is no way on earth I am telling them about -’

‘Or, there’s Towton, of course.’

‘I am not telling a bunch of children about the bloodiest battle on English soil, are you demented?’

The children in question who had no idea what either Agincourt or Towton were and therefore threw them both looks of mild boredom heard the magical word “bloody” and instantly perked up.

‘Yeah, tell us about that!’

‘That sounds wicked!’

‘Please, Mr Fell!’

Aziraphale pursed his lips at Crowley and treated him with the haughtiest expression he could muster.

‘See what you did? You created a monster.’

‘Nah, they were already monsters to begin with. Come on, angel. They’re eleven. Of course they want to hear about bloody battles. Hell, you might actually even teach them a bit of history while you’re at it. Satan knows they don’t know any.’

‘History is boring,’ Adam declared, the keeper of the Universal Truth.

‘Hellspawn, I guarantee that by the end of Aziraphale’s story you will never entertain that notion ever again.’

Adam didn’t look that convinced but he took a pillow from the couch to hug to his chest preparing for story time.

‘Dear boy, are you quite certain?’ Aziraphale asked Crowley again.

‘Oh yeah. The bloodier the better. I know my audience.’

‘Alright then. If you are absolutely certain…’

** Monday, December 24th **

‘I only have twenty pounds, Bee. How the hell am I supposed to buy him anything nice?’

‘I’m not breaking my piggy bank for you, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘No, that’s… what? NO!’

‘Good. You’re enough of a charity case as it is.’

‘Thanks.’

Bea was just tying up the laces of their Doc Martens and then pulling at their fingerless gloves that have seen a lot of better days when Crowley glanced up at them.

‘Where are you going?’

‘What do you mean where am I going? Taking you shopping for your adorable angel.’

‘He’s not…’ Crowley lowered his gaze again fighting a very obvious blush.

‘Pathetic,’ Bea said but they smiled into the massive scarf they wrapped around their neck before donning a black leather jacket several sizes too big.

‘Come on, get your skinny arse off my couch and let’s go Christmas shopping. Who knows. If you’re well behaved enough I might even buy you a candy.’

‘ _A_ candy?’

‘Wouldn’t want to spoil you. Now up you get, you knob.’

\---

‘Look, we can browse through here and see if we can find anything.’

‘This is just junk.’

‘Says the man who found a pair of Valentino sunglasses for ten quid.’

‘Yeah well, that was just dumb luck.’

‘And a Burberry trench coat for fifteen.’

‘Mmm, it’s not like -’

‘And there were those Armani shirts and that belt and -’

‘Okay, alright. You made your point. But I can’t just buy second-hand crap for Aziraphale, no matter if I find people dumb enough not to know a brand when they lay eyes on it.’

‘Okay. Vynils then? Or books?’

‘You have no idea how expensive antique books are, Bee.’

‘Let’s have a look, shall we?’ Bee hummed and made their way to the first stall with books and old magazines.

As expected, the prices were a bit steeper than Crowley could afford. Not to mention that there was nothing particularly interesting in the selection to begin with.

That happened on the second stall. And the third. And the tenth.

Crowley was on the verge of giving up when Bea prodded him harshly in the ribs.

‘Oi, you wanker. What about that one,’ they pointed at a stall on the far end of the flea market that didn’t seem to get much attention, to the stall owner’s general distress.

He shrugged and decided that there was nothing to lose by this point so they went to inspect that one as well.

There were crates upon crates of books, most of them in an appalling condition but quite obviously very old indeed.

Crowley instantly spotted at least ten books that Aziraphale would swoon over.

He cursed at himself, his lack of finances and the Universe in general, just to be sure.

Bee kicked one of the crates with their boot in obvious distaste as they addressed the stall owner.

‘So, how much is all this crap worth?’ they continued with a snarl.

Crowley was instantly grateful for his sunglasses and not for the first time. His eyes were all but shining at the precious tomes he eyed in at least three of the crates.

‘I dunno, lass. Maybe ten quid for half a dozen. A hundred quid for a crate. I just want to get rid of the lot. My great-aunt or something’s gone and kicked the bucket and now I have all of this shite to deal with.’

Crowley could feel Bea’s hand grab his wrist so tightly it would probably bruise and saw their jaw set in a way that he recognised as: Bea will not shy away from killing a man, but they refrained from commenting and even tried a short and very obvious52 smile.

‘Have at it then, darling,’ they purred in his ear and he also recognised that particular tone of voice. It meant “I am doing this for you, you cunt, but you will have to pay me back later on”.

So, trying to copy the same uninterested attitude that Bea managed so effortlessly, he started scanning through the books and did his best to refrain from buying them all.

He settled for two anthologies of poems, a rather dodgy looking copy of Canterbury Tales, a book about heraldry in the thirteen hundreds, a really old leather-bound bible and a copy of Shakespeare’s Hamlet53 because he had heard the angel say that it’s his favourite at some point.

They paid the man and were off before Crowley could betray himself and punch the air or do a happy little victory dance or Satan knew what else, as Bea was sure he would.

‘See, duck? All’s well that ends well.’

‘Well, except the,’ he waved a hand.

‘Yeah. I have half a mind to go back and punch him in that smug face of his for that. Or set fire to his stall.’

‘Don’t do that. I need to take Aziraphale to see it if it’s still up next week. All of those books… and he has no idea how much they’re worth. I mean, that was pure fucking luck on my part. But to sell everything for a hundred quid a crate? Aziraphale would have a field day.’

‘You really are head over heels, aren’t you?’

‘Pshhhhhh, am not. As if.’

Bea rolled their eyes and directed the both of them towards whoever was roasting chestnuts on the other end of the market.

Crowley’s eye was caught by a small and chipped snow globe on one of the stalls.

‘Not my aesthetic, duck.’

‘Well, good that it’s not supposed to be for you then, isn’t it?’

‘I do not do Christmas bonuses, just so you know.’

‘You also don’t pay me, so there’s that.’

‘What I mean is you won’t have any other money until next week. Cause Eric wants to “visit his family” if you can believe that. So the diner’s gonna be closed.’

‘I don’t care,’ Crowley patted their head, which earned him a punch to the ribs.

But he didn’t much care as he started talking up the lady manning the stall and putting his best moves on her.

Okay. So this only left him with two quid for the rest of the week.

He was a bit miffed that not even Iris, the nice old lady who ran the flower shop and who had taken a linking to him would sell him anything for two quid. So no flowers for the angel this time. He just hoped the rest of the things would suffice.

And anyway, he was used to living on scraps. He’d manage just fine.

** Tuesday, December 25th **

‘That is SOOO wicked!’ Adam declared, eyes ablaze.

‘I think you might have spoiled them for me for the rest of days, angel,’ Crowley chuckled as all of the kids looked at Aziraphale in awe.

‘I think you did that yourself, dear boy. I didn’t provide all the gory details. You did.’

‘Well, makes up for a good story, doesn’t it?’

‘I don’t know what to say about that…’

‘You are actually right, Crowley,’ Wensleydale butted in. ‘History IS cool.’

Crowley pointed both of his hands at the kids as if this made all the difference in the world.

‘Told you all. Now come on, up you get. I should probably walk you home since it’s nearly bed time for you.’

‘But that’s not fair!’

‘We’re eleven now. We’re almost grown-ups!’

‘And I’ll be sure to tell your parents that as soon as I get you all home. Come on, up you get, or should I call Deidre?’

There were a couple of mumbles but the children proceeded to get up and start getting dressed in all the layers they had left lying around all over the bookshop.

‘Angel?’ he tried carefully as he neared Aziraphale with an odd look on his face.

‘Yes, dear?’

‘M’ sorry again. About the pests.’

‘Nonsense. This was one of the best Christmas days I’ve spent in a long time. You know how I like to talk history.’

That he did. Crowley was actually counting on it.

And sure enough, Aziraphale nearly lit up whenever he spoke about his passion, making this afternoon in particular not that special to begin with.

Except it was. To four kids that had never understood how interesting history could actually be, for starters. Not to mention for an angel that enjoyed each and every minute of it.

‘There’s something else, as well,’ Crowley continued in almost a whisper and started rummaging through his bag.

He pulled out a package wrapped in brown wrapping paper that did not look particularly jolly or well wrapped. But it did look bulky and rather heavy.

He placed the package on the round marble-top table just underneath the oculus.

‘Open this up after we’re gone or it’s gonna take forever to get the menaces out. They would cling to any little thing just to stay longer. Not that I blame them,’ Aziraphale could swear he heard as an afterthought.

_Was that… was that another present?_

_Oh, Good Lord, he forgot to give Crowley his own present._

_No no, that just wouldn’t do._

He darted upstairs and came back with his own gift bag containing the spun glass star.

Of course, no one would have known what was in there judging by all of the wrapping alone but that was inconsequential at the moment.

‘Angel… you shouldn’t have…’ Crowley managed as he stared dumbfounded at the bag.

‘Are you coming or not?’ Pepper called out from the shop.

‘Of course I should have, dear boy. It’s Christmas time. And, well… it made me think about you.’

‘Should I open it now?’

‘Crowleeeeeeeeeeeey!’ Adam wailed, the boredom already seeping in.

Aziraphale chuckled.

‘Best not. Open it at home after all of the little ones are safely delivered to their own houses.’

‘Yeah. Best.’

Aziraphale leaned it conspiratorially.

‘You were right after all.’

‘Oh?’

‘They are little menaces.’

51Patent pending.

52For him at least.

53Despite his better judgement about that depressing piece of crap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The snails bit is not Crowley being chaotic (it really really is). But he has a point, this time around. Go and look up "medieval snail drawings" on The Google. You will laugh and laugh.
> 
> Towton is the absolute worst battle. There was so much blood that troupes couldn't go forward while wearing shoes/boots because they slipped on the stuff. Fun times for the whole family. Aziraphale has never met a child before so we can excuse him on that but Crowley is just being his awful self even suggesting that Aziraphale should tell that story.
> 
> I am not fabulising about flea markets where you can get really expensive stuff for nothing. I got an Hermes bag and a Burberry trenchcoat for 80 euros in such a market in Paris. Not to mention the countless vinyl records and old books. Some people really don't know or care about the value of the things they are selling. They just want to get rid of them.


	12. ...on Christmas evening...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of our protagonists opens his Christmas present.  
> This chapter had me grinning like mad while I wrote it. Bee and Dagon are the real MVPs of this fic.
> 
> CW: an off-handed comment about poor treatment of strippers, a mention of drugs (of the green, spliffy variety)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you ever so much, [Tarek_giverofcookies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarek_giverofcookies/pseuds/Tarek_giverofcookies) for all the positive vibes for this chapter!
> 
> Also, thank you [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose) for being a sweetheart always and bearing with me at any and all hours about all of my ships/headcanons/fics - you name it :))

**Tuesday, December 25th**

Crowley had done what he said he would do which was walk the kids home and wish all of their families a “good one”. For all of his efforts he was laden with a bunch of home-cooked meals with only two mentions of bringing the Tupperware back when he was finished with them.

So, when he arrived home at well past midnight because a lot of pleasantries involved him being invited inside and served sherry and hearing all about the latest football match that he hummed a bit about and how much everyone was hoping for the weather to change so they could go on their usual fishing trips on Sunday, he was hogging four bags of food.

Deidre had taken pity on him at some point and directed him from the living room to the kitchen where Grubby’s mum was having a heated debate with Pippin’s mum. Crowley knew who would win that one.

The children had been put to bed and all of the adults decided a night cap was just the thing, them living three doors away from each other being of huge help in that department.

In all honesty, though, they had already partaken in both an afternoon cap and then an evening cap judging by the number of open bottles of wine on the counter and the way Grubby’s mum was giggling.

There was a bottle of Scotch opened in the living room but Crowley preferred to sip his sherry rather than be strung along in yet another conversation about football, so kitchen it was.

He offered a hum here and a nod there, not wanting to get too involved in their debate either since it apparently seemed to hit some sensitive topics.

_Of course it did, this was Pippin’s mum after all._

So, instead, he kept his attention on Deidre who apparently had taken Christmas dinner apart and was packaging stuff in a lot of plastic tubs.

There was roast beef and baked potatoes. Brussel sprouts and pigs in a blanket. Quite a lot of perfectly done bacon that Bea would go mad about for all of their poor attempts at eating kale and other horrid stuff that they polluted the fridge with. There was even almost half a turkey that he had to literally fight Deidre about. He didn’t want to feel like a charity case.

Deidre threw him a very stern look and never broke eye contact as she dumped almost all of the Christmas pudding in another container.

 _Okay so there was no getting away from this_. Deidre was a force of nature to be reckoned with.

When everything was packed away and carefully arranged in a couple of bags, Deidre poured herself a healthy serving of sherry and sat down at the small table, urging Crowley to do the same.

Three pairs of eyes were now focused on him54.

‘So,’ Deidre began throwing him an entirely too-knowing-a-look for Crowley’s liking over the brim of her glass. ‘Mind telling me what that was all about?’

‘I needed a distraction.’

‘Mhm.’

He probably shouldn’t have called their kids a distraction. _People don’t much like that, do they?_

‘Look. I have a friend. A good friend. And something got him awfully sad. He seemed to like the little devils for some reason, so I thought, why the hell not? Not like you missed them that much,’ he waved his arms at the pile of bottles but even he knew he sounded defensive more than anything.

‘A friend.’

_Deidre was far too smart for her own good._

‘Oh, is it that lovely writer fellow Pep told me so much about?’ Pippin’s mum perked up.

He had liked her. He really had. Up until this point.

They were all decent people, or at least had been up until they came down on him like a bunch of vultures.

‘Yeah, that’s the one,’ he admitted and downed his sherry filling his glass to the brim instantly after. He didn’t even care if he depleted Deidre’s reserve. It was her fault to begin with.

She at least had the common decency to realise she was making him uncomfortable and stopped prodding. A courtesy that Bea would never extend to him. So she did her best to guide the conversation elsewhere and they kept on talking for maybe another half hour until he realised how late it was and excused himself.

The husbands were laughing about some joke or other as he started buttoning his coat and tying his scarf around his neck but Hellspawn’s dad came over to shake his hand and wish him a merry Christmas before he left.

Deidre passed the bags of food over and even gave him a peck on the cheek.

‘Thanks for today,’ Crowley mumbled from underneath the oversized scarf. ‘You did me a solid.’

‘No worries, dear. Anytime.’

‘And tell Red Dwarf and Thyme goodbye from me. They’re a hoot. And they have some class A kids.’

‘I will be sure to let _Stella_ and _Rosemary_ know,’ Deidre laughed. ‘Now off you pop. And give Bea my best.’

**Wednesday, December 26** **th**

Bea and Dana had apparently indulged in eggnog all evening judging by the incessant giggles he could hear from the other side of the door before even unlocking it.

‘Oi, you degenerates. I brought food.’

‘Degenerates, he says,’ Dana scoffed but got up from the couch to help him unload all the bags.

She wore her long braid adorned with two shiny ribbons and a couple of small plastic snow globes and there was a bright and garish fake candy cane on the side of her head.

Bea, for their part had a huge red ribbon on top of their head.

For all they did not want to admit, Bea loved Christmas and had developed a lot of little traditions over the years. Wearing horrible Christmas clothes was one of them. Fact which was proven by their horrific Christmas sweater and their reindeer slippers, together with small horns and red noses.

He didn’t comment on any of it. If he knew Bea well enough, one of those horrible sweaters was waiting for him too, under the little artificial tree that sat in the corner of the room.

He finished putting all the Tupperware into the fridge only for Dana to take half of it out and inspect it thoughtfully.

‘Have you and your girlfriend been at God’s good grass again?’ he called out from the hallway where he went to retrieve the bag with the present from Aziraphale which he gently put on the coffee table.

‘What do you think? It’s the holidays. We deserve an honest break.’

‘That would explain why she’s eating cold turkey directly from the container.’

Bea grabbed a discarded flip flop and threw it in the general direction of the kitchen.

‘Babes, don’t be gross.’

Dana murmured something but her mouth was too full for anything to make any sense.

‘Or at least bring some of it over here.’

Crowley cocked an eyebrow at them but Bea was hardly impressed.

‘Duckie – go look at your present,’ they pointed at the little tree.

Crowley already expected one parcel there but was taken by surprise by a second one too.

‘Dagon insisted,’ Bea explained as they inspected the empty bowl of popcorn with a scowl.

‘Dis’ss amashing!’ Dana provided from the kitchen, mouth still full.

‘Where did you find that much food anyway? Did your angel boyfriend cook it for you?’

‘Shut it. He’s not -’

‘Did you rob poor Deidre of her food again? You did, didn’t you?’ Bee narrowed their eyes but instantly called out towards the kitchen. ‘Are there any roasted potatoes?’

‘There are,’ Dana said as she was eating some of those exact potatoes foregoing the use of a fork. ‘And Brussel sprouts. And pudding.’

‘PUDDING? You absolute twat,’ Bea shrieked as they threw a pillow at Crowley. ‘You bring fucking pudding into this house and don’t say anything? Babes, you better bring that food of the gods here NOW!’

Crowley threw himself down on the couch trying to open Aziraphale’s present first, fact which earned him a swat over the hand.

‘No you don’t. You can open that later. Or tomorrow. You spent the whole day with your boyfriend. It’s me time right now, duck. I’ve missed you terribly all day. We both have.’

The noise from the kitchen indicated that Dana couldn’t give less of a shit, but that was just Dana for you.

‘Now open those two,’ Bea pointed out at the packages in his lap which were wrapped as aptly as his own two presents for the angel had been55.

The first one was of course the ugly sweater he had expected. It was a red monstrosity that had “Merry Christmas you filthy animals” knitted on the front in between a lot of snowmen who might as well scream “please end my suffering” judging by how they looked.

Bea was wearing a black sweater with Santa firing a couple of rifles from atop a dinosaur and Dana had a green one with a comically proportioned reindeer head. If you pressed its nose it started swearing at you. All in the spirit of the holiday, he was sure.

He sighed and pulled the sweater over his head to Bea’s obvious glee. He knew that was expected of him, anyway.

In the meantime Dana ambled back to the couch balancing the pudding, a couple of glasses and a second bottle of eggnog.

‘Okay, so these are for you two,’ Crowley fished inside his bag and pulled two brooches he had found at the Christmas fair a while ago when he first went inspecting. And a damn good decision that was since otherwise he would have never been able to afford presents for everyone. He was already feeling bad that he hadn’t bought the kids anything.

He got Dana a silvery fish brooch and Bea a large fly with red eyes that they instantly screamed out loud about. He knew Bea’s penchant for everything concerning bugs.

They were both painted enamel and rather shiny and had been a bit over budget but it was a good thing that he only had to eat once a day when not under adult supervision.

‘I love it duck, com’ere!’ Bea exclaimed and threw their arms around his neck and then proceeded to put it on, pinning it on the horrid sweater.

Even Dana grumbled something and squeezed his shoulder in appreciation before putting it on.

‘Oooh, open the second one,’ Bea urged with a glint in their eye and, judging by the way Dana was trying her hardest not to snort, it didn’t necessarily bode very well.

He unwrapped the paper hastily, wanting to be done with it as soon as possible. And then stared.

Both Bea and Dana instantly burst out laughing and there was nothing short of nuclear Armageddon that would have stopped them as they laughed for a full five minutes before Bea started wiping away tears and Dana started drawing deep breaths to end the wheezing.

‘It was Dana’s idea,’ Bea pointed out but it was clear they very much approved.

‘You don’t say.’

‘Oh, come on, don’t be a bore,’ Dana punched him in the shoulder and got up to go looking for something. ‘Call it professional deformation. But I thought it funny. A lot funnier on those boxers than in real life, though.’

‘Professional deformation?’

‘Oh yeah. You wouldn’t believe how many times I heard that joke. Those are the times I am secretly glad that Jerry has us walking in those thirteen inch heels,’ she continued nonchalantly as she fished in her make-up bag some more. ‘Brings a man closer to god having one of those babies pressed to their groin and twisted just the _right_ way.’

‘Especially when Dagon flashes them one of her prize-winning smiles,’ Bea provided.

Crowley had to admit that there was an uncanny quality to Dana’s smiles that was not for the faint of heart. And he felt a bit bad for whoever earned her ire. No. Actually. He didn’t. Not even in the slightest. They fully deserved whatever she would impart on them, especially in her line of work.

‘Ah, found them!’ she declared victoriously as she waved two small bottles of nail polish at them. ‘Now scoot.’

Crowley ended up with Bea’s feet in his lap, staring up close at those cheery reindeer monstrosities they wore.

The offending piece of clothing he had received was placed on the coffee table next to Aziraphale’s gift.

He got another swat for trying to open it and then they both settled on the couch, Bea hugging the pudding to their chest and Crowley being urged by Dana to toe his socks off as apparently she felt rather bad for the completely uncalled for gift and offered to paint his toenails.

She kneeled in front of the couch and pulled at his feet so they were now resting on the coffee table. Then she poured a healthy glass of eggnog for the three of them and hit play on the movie that they had paused when he came in.

It was “The Nightmare before Christmas” because that was Bea’s favourite “Christmas” movie and Bea’s wish was everyone’s command, especially during the winter holidays.

It was no surprise to anyone of the three parties involved that not even halfway through the movie they had all dozed off in the various very uncomfortable positions they were occupying.

\---

Crowley was the first to wake up with a kink in his neck. His back was also probably going to lodge a complaint about the abysmal treatment it had received.

Bea seemed to be the most comfortable one, head nestled between the armrest and a a pillow, feet still in his lap and pudding bowl still clasped to their chest.

Dana seemed out of the three them the one who will curse at the universe the most on this bright and glorious day having fallen asleep on the floor, head tipped back on the seat of the sofa, snoring slightly.

Not that he would do or say anything, especially try and wake her up. He still had nightmares about the last time he had tried doing that.

He instead did his best to pry the bowl out of Bea’s hands and placed it on the the table, even if he was met with a bit of a fight. Then he fished to the side and pulled out a blanket that he draped over Dana before leaning over to grab the expensive-looking gift bag that had been on his mind ever since he left the bookshop the previous day like the proverbial sword hanging over his head.

He tried to unwrap it as delicately as possible so as not to damage the paper too much since even that looked posh as fuck.

Once that was out of the way and the silvery-looking box was also dealt with he was just left staring at the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life.

That was how Bea found him, almost an hour and a half later when they slowly drifted awake.

He stood so still that at first they thought he was still asleep. But apparently he was leaning over a box of sorts. Far fancier than anything Bea had ever seen.

They tried nudging him some and after the first three “duckie” and the first “oi, wanker” didn’t manage anything else but wake Dana up they gave up and tried to shift to a sitting position without kicking at the box in the process.

And then scooted over and laid eyes on a beautiful piece of art.

They stared for a bit as well. And so did Dana, soon enough.

‘Holy fuck!’ she mouthed at them, not that she should have bothered.

‘I know,’ they mouthed back and looked at Crowley.

Crowley was looking at the spun glass star transfixed.

Bea could swear they saw dried tear trails down his cheeks and his glistening eyes were proof enough to support all of their theories.

‘Duck,’ they tried again, this time placing their arm around his shoulders and giving him a light squeeze.

‘Yeah… I…. have you seen this?’ he finally managed to take his eyes off the ornament.

‘Yeah, babes. ‘Member when I said he probably just wants to give you a good dicking?’

Crowley just blinked, looking from one to the other.

‘Yeah, well…. It’s obviously not that.’

Even Dana managed to nod in approval.

54Well, two, at least. Grubby’s mum did not look like she had a very focused gaze at the moment.

55Which is to say, not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boxers that Crowley receives as a present have a candy cane drawn on them and the message "It won't lick itself". Both Bea and Dana wanted it to be funny-haha in regards to his angel.


	13. ...a week turned into a month...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both of our bois are stupid but what else is new...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In come Tracy and Anathema

** Tuesday, December 25th **

Aziraphale waved goodbye at the lot of them and then locked the door and approached the table in the middle of the bookshop.

He had dealt with books his entire adult life and most of his childhood so he had a faint inkling what was in the package.

That didn’t mean he was any less impressed with the contents when he sat down on the sofa and opened the present.

He passed his fingers over the spines already mentally making a list of all of the supplies he would need to restore them to their initial glory.

He craddled the Hamlet copy to his chest and nearly shed a tear thinking about the kind and considerate stranger that had simply waltzed into his life.

They barely knew each other for a little more than two weeks and yet he couldn’t imagine his life without this absolutely impossible creature in it any longer.

This was the best Christmas day he had had in ages. Maybe ever.

Crowley had made that possible.

Crowley had made a lot of things possible.

Him getting over the absurd writer’s block that had taken over him for months now.

Him saying no to Gabriel without a second thought.

Him believing that he was someone worthwile. That people would actually find his presence in any way pleasant.

Of course, Tracy loved spending time with him, but Tracy was paid for doing her job and he was the one doing the paying. And there was Anathema too, but Anathema was an odd one and she tended to like unusual stuff. She surely wasn’t certified proof that he was all that pleasant to be around to begin with.

Judging by his cousins’ words alone that did not seem to be the case.

And yet, here Crowley was, acting like the sun shone out of Aziraphale’s backside for some reason or other.

He had opened the wrapping paper with trembling fingers once he was sat down on the couch as if the paper even mattered all that much.

Now he was just looking at the small collection of books and trying to make heads or tails of this as his phone rang.

‘Hello?’ he answered not even bothering to look at the caller ID.

‘Happy solstice, hun!’

‘That was yesterday, my dear, as I am sure you well know.’

‘I know sweetie but I wanted to talk to you. I had a dream about you last night. I dreamt that someone ruined your day. I didn’t want to mention it because it would have felt like jinxing fate but now that the day is almost ended I wanted to make sure nothing bad happened.’

‘Oh, no no. Nothing happened. Everything is absolutely tickety-boo.’

‘Right.’

‘And a Merry Christmas to you, my dear!’

‘I told you that I don’t celebrate… ah, I get what you’re doing. Fine. This is all very well. You do your thing hun, as long as nothing bad happened.’

‘Right you are, dear.’

‘Just so you know, I want to meet him at some point.’

‘I … what?’ Aziaphale managed to splutter.

‘You really can’t get out of it, you know. I do know where you live.’

‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’

‘Aziraphale. Honey. I think I might actually record you next time. Your voice goes all funny after spending the day with your misterious writer friend.’

‘I can assure you that -’

‘Nah, save it. It goes even funnier when you’re lying to me. I could do without that. But I will meet him, you mark my words.’

Aziraphale closed his eyes and sighed.

‘Of course, dear girl. Pip pip.’

‘Night, hun.’

_Alright so this might be a minor problem._

** Wednesday, December 26th **

It was a bit after noon when his phone started ringing and he again answered without even looking at who it was that was calling him.

He was far too engrossed in fixing the cover of the bible that he had received from Crowley.

All of the books would be getting the same treatment soon enough but, for now, in the spirit of the holiday at least, the bible it was.

He had gone to bed unfathomably late, like he usually did and, after a restless sleep in which he only dreamt about Crowley and his impossibly kind smile, he got up at 4am in a mess of tangled sheets and drenched pijamas.

_Well… not only his smile…_

The dream had started with that smile, yes, but then it continued with the considerate gift and the bashful look Crowley threw him as he was unwrapping the books.

And then that look turned into something else completely and the next thing he knew he was thrust against a bookshelf and kissed within an inch of his life.

 _There was absolutely nothing bashful about that_ , he tried to reprimand himself as he remembered hands in his hair and teeth biting his neck and then those impossible eyes staring into his as the hands went lower and made quick work of the buttons of his shirt and waistcoat and then his belt buckle and then Crowley smirked at him and let his hands wander further.

Aziraphale tried to fight the blush that was spreading at an alarming rate at the mere memory.

He took longer than he would ever admit to anyone to get out of the mess that the sheets had become, nearly falling off the bed in the process and made his way to the bathroom.

_A shower was what he needed. And then everything would be alright._

He turned the tap on and shimmied out of his pyjamas.

But all that was on his mind were Crowley’s hands grabbing at his arse as he motioned them towards his work desk where he cleared everything with a quick swipe of his hand and next thing he knew, Aziraphale was splayed on it while Crowley was tugging his trousers off.

And then Crowley’s mouth was latched onto his again and those impossibly delicate hands were exploring his body, gently caressing everything they could.

_Alright. A cold shower it would be then._

That had been hours ago.

And Aziraphale wasn’t particularly proud of what happened next.

Nor was he proud of the dream in itself but at least that was a product of his subconscious instead of something that he actively chose to do which was not something that he should, or wanted to – for that matter – dwell on.

So when he pushed the speaker button while deep in concentration on the corner of the backcover and heard Crowley’s voice he nearly jumped out of his chair.

Shame washed all over him. He really shouldn’t be thinking anything along THOSE lines about his new friend that did nothing more than be kind to him.

_Was he so bereft of basic human kindness that he needed to project such unseemly thoughts unto the poor man?_

‘Hey there, angel!’ he could hear the smirk in Crowley’s voice and tried his best to keep his breathing under control.

He could just see with his mind’s eye that smirk plastered on his throat while several very … interesting things were happening to other parts of his body. While being on display on the very desk he was working at now.

He gasped.

‘Angel, are you alright?’

‘Absolutely tickety-boo, why do you even ask?’

‘I guess… I dunno. Don’t mind me. I was actually calling to thank you for your gift. You weren’t kidding when you said you liked my stars bit. It’s beautiful, angel. Maybe the most beautiful gift I have received in a while. Or ever. Almost as beautiful as -’

There seemed to be something happening at the other end if the shifts in fabric and muffled voices were any indication. At some point someone seemed to have broken something.

And then the call ended.

He couldn’t say that he wasn’t disappointed but Crowley’s free time was his own so Aziraphale decided he wouldn’t dwell on it.

And if he fumbled in such a haste to answer his phone when it rang a minute or so later so much so that he was on the verge of dropping it, then that was nobody’s business.

‘Hey. Again. Sorry about that. Bee was being a shit.’

Aziraphale hummed but didn’t further comment on it.

It was just as well that he had no idea that at that precise moment Bea was throwing a fit at Dana after Crowley had stormed off from the apartament after completely refusing to read their more than perfect confession that they had spent their morning coming up with and putting on paper.

_Probably for the best, really._

‘I am sorry to hear that, dear boy.’

‘Nah, no biggie. They’re usually being a shit. But seriously, angel, that was a very nice gift. Could I pay you back by taking you to lunch?’

‘Oh, there’s no need for that. Like you said – it was a gift. You don’t repay people for gifts. Not to mention the excellent books you got me, dear. I cannot thank you enough.’

‘Psssh, ‘s nothing. Glad you like them, though.’

‘Like them? I adore them. Thank you!’

‘Stop mentioning it, angel. Anyway. Lunch? Or we could go to that exibit you wanted to see?’

‘Oh that would be just splendid, my dear!’

‘How does Friday sound for that?’

‘Friday sounds perfect.’

‘And how about I take you out for lunch today?’

Aziraphale thought back to his dream and blushed some more.

 _No, this was absolutely out of the question_. He could not bear to see Crowley today. Not with _THOSE_ thoughts still in his head.

So he made up a half-baked excuse about being terribly busy with his writing – which was actually what he should be doing, anyway, so it wasn’t completely untrue.

‘Mkay then, angel,’ he swore he could hear a tinge of disappointment in Crowley’s tone. ‘See you on Friday, then. It’s a date.’

Aziraphale stared at the phone long after Crowley hung up replaying “it’s a date” over and over in his head.

On the other end of the line a certain tall and skinny ginger felt like screaming at the universe for his abysmal choice of words and contemplating crawling into a hole and dying there. Or destroying his phone. Or both. _Both was a good choice._

** Monday, December 31st **

‘Oh, hello, dear!’

‘Happy New Year, angel!’

‘Not yet. Not for another -’

‘Five, four, three, two, ONE!’ was almost yelled in the background.

‘Ah, there it is. Happy New Year, dear!’

‘Same, angel. I was meaning to -’ Aziraphale could hear a lot of noise and people being quite monumentally drunk for only 12 am. ‘Yeah, you fuckers, happy new year’s to you too. Now can I please have my phonecall? Sheesh. You’d think this is prison or something. You know what, Bee? Fuck you too. Sorry about that, angel. I really need to go or I will never hear the end of this.’

‘No worries. I should probably rejoin Anathema too. See you next year. Well, this year, I suppose.’

‘Of course you would make that joke. You are sooo predictable!’

‘Am not. Now you take that back, Crowley!’

‘I’m not gonna. And now I really need to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.’

‘I think you mean today,’ Aziraphale was not one to let a joke drop no matter how bad it was.

‘Nah, I most definitely mean tomorrow. You have never seen Bea and Dana on the booze so you might be excused but we will be drinking until noon and then have a horrible hangover for a week.’

‘Have you considered maybe… not doing that?’

‘Where’s the fun in that, angel? Night. Talk to you on the second.’

Aziraphale tried to coax the wide smile on his face into something more neutral but he obviously failed in doing that judging by Anathema’s very knowing expression. Which was also a bit smug. _How did she do it?_

‘Hey there, hun. Ready to join the rest of us, mortals?’

They were at a really posh party, courtesy of Anathema who, despite her propensity to spend her time in old bookshops and little occult shops, was quite the heiress. Her family had made a fortune when they bought a lot of Apple shares on a whim. Or, as Anathema put it, not a whim but based on supernatural foresight. Aziraphale didn’t believe in those things but he had to admit that hey got quite lucky.

The host was holding a speech but none of them could be bothered. As Anathema had put it, they only came for the expensive champagne and the to-die-for appetizers.

The fact that she had managed to get both Aziraphale and Tracy in was just a bonus.

Of course, Aziraphale could have used his family name to get in on his own but he 1. Had to go through Gabriel, or at least Gabriel’s secretary56 in order to get in and 2. He had to use his actual name and that meant people would want to talk to him. _No no, “plus one” was more than enough for him._

They were currently in one of the penthouses in One Hyde Park and it looked just as tacky as Aziraphale imagined it would look. But the champagne was indeed excellent.

Anathema had done her fair share of mingling at the beginning of the evening, enough for her to be able to retreat to the only two people she properly knew. And doing her best in looking like she wasn't bored out of her mind.

Crowley was on the other side of town in a nightclub doing his best also. His best was rejoining his friends inside Dana's club and wanting to be entertained. He was in for a treat.

** Friday, January 5th **

Aziraphale decided it was one of those days that he actually needed to get some writing done so he sat down in front computer and tried to do that. Not even a full half hour later his phone rang.

_Anathema._

He sighed but honestly why was he even expecting anything else?

‘Hello my dear girl.’

‘Hello yourself. A little birdie tells me that your mystery writer friend is a snack.’

He sighed again and started massaging the bridge of his nose.

‘And a little birdie tells me that Marjorie will suffer a great cut in salary. And possibly have her Thursday privileges revoked.’

He never called her Marjorie if he could help it. It was a sign that he was obviously very cross with her.

‘So I gather a really tasty snack, then.’

‘That’s crude.’

‘It is. Sorry, hun. But she did say he is drop dead gorgeous.’

Aziraphale wasn’t getting away with it either way, who was he kidding. So he got up from his desk, flopped into his usual armchair, let his head fall back on the backrest and closed his eyes.

‘Mhm.’

‘Anything you want to do about it?’

‘Nothing much I can do about it, is there?’

‘That’s some bull and you know it. Ask the guy out. Or, better yet, let me meet him first. To have him properly vetted, you know?’

‘Out of the question. And now if you finished being a nuisance for the evening I really do have to hang up.’

** Thursday, January 4th **

Tracy let herself in with the spare key that Aziraphale had provided her with forever ago.

She hummed to herself and tutted slightly at the books that were spread all over the floor. Aziraphale really needed to get his head out of the clouds and tidy a bit after himself. Even if she supposed that was what he was paying her for. But still.

‘Cooe, mister A,’ she called out as she took off her scarf and coat and wandered into the backroom to hang them up.

She expected to find him like she usually did, either at his desk typing away or maybe restoring a book or in his old armchair, book in hand.

What she did not expect was the stranger who was lounging on the couch and looking like he all but owned the place.

The bookshop had been closed and locked so this was certainly not a customer. Not to mention that there weren’t many customers who ventured back into Aziraphale’s workspace and made themselves at home like that.

‘Um… can I help you,’ the stranger said more than asked and threw her a look from behind dark sunglasses with a slightly raised eyebrow as he got up from his leisurely sprawl into something vaguely resembling a normal sitting position but only just.

‘And you are?’

That felt altogether too cocky for someone she had barely met after knowing Aziraphale for ages now. He needed to be taken down a peg.

And that opportunity presented itself as soon as Aziraphale came back to the backroom carrying a tray with some nibbles and a couple of mugs.

‘Oh, Tracy. I see you’ve met Crowley.’

‘Haven’t had the pleasure yet, love,’ she said as she extended a hand as if she wanted him to kiss her knuckles. ‘Madame Tracy.’

He took it and gave it a shake instead. ‘Madame, eh? I’m Crowley.’

‘I gathered that, love. So, are you the mysterious bloke Anathema was telling me about? That Aziraphale wants to keep all to himself.’

That had the desired effect on both Aziraphale and Crowley alike, she noted with a satisfied smirk. They both deserved it too, Aziraphale for keeping this from her and Crowley for being just a bit insufferable.

Aziraphale nearly dropped the tray altogether in the rush to place it on the coffee table and start toying with the hem on his waistcoat looking anywhere but at Crowley while Crowley’s face did its absolute best to mimic his hair.

Madame Tracy tried her hardest not to give them another satisfied look before she turned on her heels and placed her coat and scarf on the coat rack.

‘I’d rather forgotten that you were supposed to come in today,’ Aziraphale finally managed to say.

‘I figured that much, love. I would reschedule if it’s inconvenient of course, but I already told Mrs. Omerod about the séance and you know how she can get. I feel for your poor front door if I don’t keep on schedule.’

‘Séance?’ Crowley asked as he managed to peel himself up from the couch and down his mug of coffee in one gulp, the excellent Jamaica blend lost on him.

‘Oh yes, quite. Madame Tracy holds a séance almost every Thursday. Drawing the veil, she calls it,’ Aziraphale rolled his eyes because he felt like that was entirely justified after being embarrassed like that.

‘Does she really?’ Crowley drawled and sat down at the table that the woman – Trace or something – was currently preparing for whatever it was that she was doing.

He was seriously fascinated. Not only by what was about to unfold but by her as a person and the fact that prim and proper Aziraphale was friends with someone like this.

He had never met someone to dress as such an eyesore as this person did. And she wore, if possible, even more makeup than Dana wore on the nights she performed.

He found that he took an instant liking to her despite her rather weird comment about Aziraphale and whoever that Anasomething person was.

56Who was extraordinarily loyal and would have told his cousin about it in a matter of minutes.


	14. ... there was a woman wise in arcane mysteries...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuation of last chapter, this time from Crowley's point of view

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Madame Tracy, y'all :))
> 
> Actual note: Whenever Aziraphale thinks about her she is called Tracy, whenever Crowley does she is called Trace. Just so it doesn't get confusing.

** Monday, December 31st **

Their not-date date had gone fine, him arriving at the bookshop with a pair of tickets for the temporary exhibition Aziraphale had wanted to see, courtesy of Bea “going against their better judgement” and lending him the money to buy them. "He was not a charity case and he would do his best to remember that," they further added and for that he was very grateful. More grateful than about the money, to be honest, since he supposed he might have gone against his nature and actually been pleasant to the customers at The Pit in order to get some better tips. It would be painful, but worth it in order to see a smile on Aziraphale’s face. But he made it a point of pride not to receive money he didn’t work for and Bea was well aware of the fact. If he knew he could pay them back than that was alright then.

He hadn’t necessarily needed to actually go and buy the tickets beforehand, they could have just bought them when they arrived at the museum, but he didn’t want to take any chances of Aziraphale one-upping him and paying for them. Not to mention that this way he could swagger inside the bookshop as he presented them in between two fingers with a wide grin of satisfaction on his face as if he was proposing something as extravagant as… dinner at the Ritz or some such craziness.

Aziraphale had been delighted, of course, even if there was a shadow on his face for a short moment that Crowley could not explain. He’ll figure it out later.

And then they spent the day in the National Gallery and everything was perfect. Everything was always perfect when he spent time with Aziraphale. And if none of them brought up Crowley calling this “a date” then that was nobody’s business.

The problem came after that when they each went their separate ways, Aziraphale excusing himself by saying that he had a lot of writing to do if he wanted to actually send something to the editors in time for his deadline and so the next couple of days he would be quite busy as well.

Which was a big bummer for Crowley but only to be expected, honestly. Aziraphale was a grown man. He had his own life and his own schedule and he shouldn’t be expected to shift all of that to accommodate Crowley no matter how much Crowley wished him to.

So he resorted to pouting for the oncoming couple of days, or, at least until New Year’s Eve when his phone lit up and Aziraphale’s name popped on the screen.

Bea and Dagon were giving him wolf whistles in the background but he just could not be bothered at this point.

He stepped outside the club where the two menaces had dragged him to for the evening and took the call already feeling lighter and more content than in the last 72 hours.

At some point Bea ventured outside to drag him back in as they were popping open the champagne and made a huge fuss about it all the while.

And he expected they were right, too, in dragging him back inside as the drag show was about to start and they never missed that if they could help it. It was one of the better things to come out of the ~~fine~~ dismal establishment that Dana’s place of work was.

He could swear he saw Hastur and Ligur lurking in one of the lesser lit parts of the club at some point and relayed this information to Bea who just dismissed them as non important. They had kicked Hastur’s arse on more than one occasion and Dana had threatened Ligur with a shiv once he started getting grabby. They did tend to come to the club and pester Dana a lot at work since they both knew her affiliation to Bea.

But, as Bea put it, as long as the three of them stayed together, nothing bad could happen, so, emboldened by that fact, Crowley did exactly what he had told the angel he would do. Which was get monumentally shitfaced.

Having your friend work in a nightclub did come with certain perks. Such as drinks on the house. Quite a lot of drinks.

And thus, true to his word, he got up on the second, somewhere around noon with a splitting headache.

There also seemed to be a purple feather boa somewhere around his middle. And he was sporting a golden sequined jacket several sizes too small and, upon managing to get up and inspect himself in the bathroom mirror, quite a fair amount of differently coloured lipstick marks on his cheeks and forehead.

Ah, yeah, the drag queens had taken a liking to him and his “frankly obscene hips” as _Mimi was it?_ had put it. Dana had just thrown him an exasperated look and rolled her eyes which only prompted him to jokingly flirt with them all the more.

Fact that he would only half-heartedly regret for the oncoming two weeks when Dana would get home and mutter some invective or other after being subjected to a wide range of questions about her “sexy friend”.

 _Good_. Dana needed to be taken down a peg. Even if both her and Bea unanimously decided that he was an utter slut. Not that it actually mattered since his eyes were set on one being and one being alone.

_Anyway. Time to call the angel then._

** Thursday, January 4th **

Crowley realised that as much as he had hoped to spend the day alone with Aziraphale, probably getting drunk on one of his excellent wines, he was really intrigued about the turn of events.

 _A séance? How novel_. Not to mention that the lady herself was fascinating, with her little jabs at Aziraphale and her cheeky jokes that made her laugh a hearty laugh and the angel blush from head to toes.

So he placed his elbows on the table and asked her to tell him all about this psychic business, much to Aziraphale’s chagrin. It was obvious that he didn’t believe any of this stuff so Crowley did his best to ask as many questions as possible and ask for all of the details he could think of, even asking if he could participate in the one she was about to hold.

Which made Aziraphale huff and roll his eyes, impossibly fussy creature that he was.

‘See, mister A? Not everyone’s a sceptic. It would do you good to believe in things we can’t explain from time to time. Like how this young man can fit into those impossible trousers. God knows how it takes me more than half an hour to squeeze in my leather pinny. And there is a lot of talcum powder involved.’

Aziraphale spluttered something unintelligible and avoided both of their gazes which is why he completely missed how Tracy winked at Crowley maybe the sauciest wink known to man.

Which got Crowley to let his head drop back and burst out laughing just as he got up from the table and went to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a whisky, making sure he would pass Aziraphale while doing so and also making sure there was maximum hip movement involved. _After all, what were the leather trousers for if not this?_

He was playing a dangerous game, of that he was well aware, but Crowley had never been very competent in decision-making so why start now?

Oh the one hand, he wanted to be part of Aziraphale’s life. To be his friend. His _best_ friend, even. Not that they knew each other for that long for that to be the case just yet.

He wanted for Aziraphale to confide in him when he had a bad day and he wanted to beam at him when he told him about how he discovered a new book or tried a new to-die-for dessert.

He wanted for them to talk about history and religion and art and joke about it all and be treated as an equal by someone who wasn’t even fazed that Crowley had no higher education to speak of despite his extensive own one.

He wanted to curl up on his couch and inhale his scent and be surrounded and enveloped in the warmth and safety that everything near the angel radiated.

Problem was… on the other hand, he really wanted Aziraphale to fuck him on every available horizontal surface in the bookshop. And maybe vertical as well. He had absolutely no qualms about being forcefully pushed into any of the walls or fucked against a door. Or maybe a bookshelf. He wasn’t picky. It was the fucking bit that was important.

And while he knew that his flirtatious attitude towards anything that moved had managed to bring him jackshit other than one night stands that had treated him like the slut Bea and Dana claimed that he was57 he couldn’t help himself to direct a bit of it58 towards the angel, hoping for a positive reaction.

He had no idea what that reaction could be since while he imagined any and all scenarios involving him and Aziraphale in various states of undress he didn’t want to see himself as a one-night stand. He could never bear that. Not this time and especially not with the angel.

And so this fine line he was walking was a very dangerous one indeed as he would propose get-togethers and coffee59 and talking about books but he would never proposition the angel anything else. That had to come from Aziraphale.

He made a point not to look at Aziraphale to see his reaction but he was looking at this Trace lady and he couldn’t help but spot the knowing look on her face as she looked from one to the other.

_Well, at least that’s something._

And then there was a knock on the door and Trace got up and welcomed in three people that looked as different one from each other as could be. One of them was an old man with a dazed expression on his face, probably fascinated by the mere idea of what was about to happen. One was a tall goth chick that in true goth fashion was as white as a sheet. Even if he expected that had a lot more to do with a thick layer of foundation than it had to do with her natural complexion, but Crowley could understand going for an aesthetic and sticking to it. And the third one was a stocky-looking sixty-something lady that was marching ahead of the rest with a determined look on her face and sat down in one of the chairs as if she owned the place.

This got Aziraphale to frown a bit but he didn’t want to be rude to Tracy’s customers so he buried his face in a book and pretended not to pay them any mind.

The lady at the table looked up at Crowley and her mouth did something that clearly suggested displeasure. _Perfect._ This was gonna be even more fun than he had previously imagined.

‘And who might this be?’ she asked Trace while giving him a one-over.

‘Just a fellow enthusiast of this fine art,’ Crowley threw her his most charming smile. It didn’t work on her. _Not that he actually thought that it would._

Meanwhile the other two were also seated and Trace was urging them to hold hands as she summoned her spirit guide.

‘Well, aren’t you gonna sit down?’ the lady called even if it was painfully obvious that she did not much appreciate any extra parties involved as that would cut down on her spirit talking time.

‘Wouldn’t want to impose,’ he said as he leaned in on a bookshelf, holding his whisky glass to his chest. ‘Think of me as a casual outside observer.’

That at least seemed to appease the woman a bit.

It did not appease Aziraphale who shot him a warning look before returning to his book.

Crowley did not have to wait long as Trace started talking in a high-pitched voice which was probably supposed to be her that of her spirit guide, whatever that was.

And then she started asking the man some questions. _What did he say his name was? Squirtle? Squiggly?_ Something along those lines.

It was exactly what he was expecting a psychic séance to be like. Trace asked just the right questions and with a bit of conjecture and common sense she managed to draw some assumptions that were there for all to see if you knew what to look for. _Oh, she was good_ , Crowley smirked to himself.

Just as the woman started getting restless and asking for her time of the séance to take precedent a wily thought started forming in his mind.

He knew about the rickety ladder on a rail and a quick glance behind the bookshelf he was leaning against made him happy to realise that it was within grabbing distance so he let his hand snake behind it and grabbed one of its brass handles. What he also knew for a fact was that the complicated rail system that for some reason Aziraphale absolutely refused to oil60 connected most of the higher bookshelves in the back and if given a vigorous push would make more than a dozen of them wobble and shake as if earthquakes had suddenly decided that London was the place to be.

So he chose the precise moment when the woman’s voice became more high pitched and demanding than polite in such a setting to giving the ladder a harsh tug and then push it away as quick as possible with enough time to pull back his hand and hug his lithe frame instead, both hands now in the open for all to see before all hell broke lose.

Some of the bookshelves in the back had locked glass doors in order to preserve the books61 so the rattle that ensued was something truly terrible.

Crowley managed to coax his face into something as neutral as possible and sipped his whisky.

‘What’s that?’ the goth girl asked on a voice that betrayed fascination hinged with a little bit of fear.

‘Well, don’t quote me on this but I guess that’s just the spirits being angry that they don’t get to say their piece,’ he said and gave them all a shrug.

Trace was looking at him barely supressing a smile and Aziraphale was fixing him with the strictest look he had ever seen on anyone’s face. He had never been privately tutored by a strict governess and never by a governess who did THAT since that was frowned upon in this day and age but he could imagine Aziraphale as a no-nonsense educator that would bend him over his lap and give him a good caning. And he found out that the thought alone did quite intriguing things to him so he tried to focus on the four people at the table instead.

The old woman didn’t look very impressed but the other two were absolutely enthralled.

And, half an hour later, when he went out back and started fiddling with the light switches was anything to go by62 then he considered himself vindicated for both the looks and raised eyebrows he got as the three of them scrammed for the door.

He made an appearance five minutes later and took a deep bow much to Trace’s glee63 and Aziraphale’s mock put-off expression that went ever so soft when he thought Crowley didn’t pay attention.

‘Mister A!,’ she declared in almost a squeak, ‘my bookings will be through the roof after this performance!’

57Even if they both did it as a joke.

58A whole lot of it.

59For some more than others.

60He had a faint inkling that his refusal to do so had a lot to do with discouraging customers to ever climbing any of the ladders to reach the higher shelves but it was just a presumption.

61And probably for Aziraphale to get away with saying that he had misplaced the key, awfully sorry about that my good chap and then direct the people to the nearest Waterstones. But, again. That was just a hypothesis.

62Judging by how they all but fled the bookshop.

63Who even clapped for a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bless you, HolRose for all the advice, titles and the like! Kisses and hugs!


	15. ...there was a magical chariot...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here, have two extra "characters" - one nice, one not so nice.
> 
> CW: Fatshaming, self esteem issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose), you are an absolute treasure!  
> 

** Monday, January 15th **

Crowley was sitting64 on the couch waiting for Aziraphale to finish making tea and bring back the apple crumble he had bragged about all morning65) when he heard the bell ring.

 _Huh. Weird. He seemed to recall that he locked the door._ But maybe his mind was playing tricks on him.

‘We’re closed. Learn to read the bloody sign,’ he yelled from the couch and tried to make himself more comfortable as he got acquainted with the fine aspects of medieval warfare.

The unwanted customer didn’t get the message though as they made their way towards the back of the bookshop.

Crowley groaned.

He really didn’t want to deal with any customers.

_Huh, was this how Aziraphale felt all the time?_

The would-be customer was not dissuaded in his mission to ruin Crowley’s perfectly splendid afternoon, it appeared.

Before he could get up from his weird sprawl he noticed a tall and posh looking guy look at him with a frankly very annoying expression and a slightly raised eyebrow. He really didn’t like the look of him.

Maybe it was because of his prim and proper attire that screamed old money in a way that Aziraphale’s old clothes never did. He looked right out of the pages of a men’s fashion magazine and therefore fake as fuck. _Not to mention that wearing lavender just made you look pretentious._

Crowley had never had a problem with lavender up until now but there was something inherently wrong with this person that he swore to himself to start hating that colour altogether.

_Who the fuck was this wanker?_

‘Um, excuse you, but there’s a closed sign on the door so if you could,’ Crowley made some shooing motions.

‘I’m looking for Aziraphale,’ the stranger said with a slight sneer. ‘And you are?’

Crowley looked him up and down and realised he didn’t much want to grace that question with an answer.

It was at this particular moment that Aziraphale deemed fit to return from the back room with a tray filled with nibbles and apple crumble.

‘Oh, dear. Sorry for taking so long it’s just that… _oh_. Gabriel.’

That made the tall wanker turn around and take Aziraphale in. His eyes stopped on the contents of the tray and he shook his head slightly.

‘Seriously, sunshine. Must you? No wonder you never seem to lose any weight.’

Crowley dug his fingers hard into the cover of the book and gritted his teeth.

‘Well, rather. Now is not a good time.’

‘I can obviously see that,’ the wanker – Gabriel, apparently – looked him up and down some more. ‘Gabriel Herald,’ he extended a hand that Crowley observed for a very impolite number of seconds before turning his attention back to his book.

‘Crowley.’

‘Do you have a first name?’

‘You know they never bothered with that. I seem to be keeping you from something, aren’t I?’

The fucker seemed to bristle all over and turned his attention to Aziraphale.

‘I have been calling both of your mobile and your landline for a couple of days now.’

‘Oh, I must have been distracted.’

‘You most certainly were,’ Gabriel threw him another hateful look and Crowley replied with a small wave and a smirk while on the inside he was boiling.

‘I got word from some of our editors that you changed the narrative. I mean, sunshine, really? Who the hell wants to read about some random stable boys and ladies’ maids? No no. That just wouldn’t do. You just stick to what you had going on beforehand because apparently that sold a lot of books for some reason.’

Crowley was on the verge of ripping the book in his lap to shreds but realised that that would upset Aziraphale even more. So he drew in a deep breath and then another.

‘Any other nugget of wisdom you want to impart?’

Gabriel was obviously taken aback by the harsh treatment and had no reply at the ready.

‘Yes? No? Thought so,’ Crowley swung his feet off the couch and then took the newcomer by the shoulders guiding him in the direction of the door where he opened it and guided him out.

The wanker was still at a loss of words.

‘Make sure to contact Aziraphale during working hours next time, yes? _Sunshine_.’

He tapped on the glass of the door pointing at the work hours and then gave him another little wave and slammed the door in his face.

Ad then he made a point to secure the latch as well and draw the blinds.

_The nerve on that shit!_

He returned to the back of the bookshop only to find Aziraphale trembling slightly and bearing the most depressed expression known to man.

‘Who the fuck was that wanker?’

‘Now, now, dear. There is no need for that kind of language.’

It did take a while for the angel to say that, though. And even when he did his voice was cracking just a little bit.

‘There absolutely is. He was being a jerk. And to you, of all people, a literal angel.’

Aziraphale chuckled.

‘I swear, someday you will have to tell me why you call me that. I don’t imagine my general behaviour is all that angelic.’

‘Who knows, someday maybe I will,’ Crowley smiled slyly. _Oh god he was so beautiful._

‘Anyway, that was my cousin. Gabriel.’

‘He seems like a massive knob.’

Aziraphale wanted to admonish him some more. _No_. What he wanted was to laugh out loud in earnest so he turned his back to Crowley, pretending to inspect some book spines only so he could smile to himself. What he _needed_ to do was admonish Crowley.

‘Oh, Crowley, really now,’ was all he managed. The endearment in his tone was not lost on either of them.

‘What? He is. Does he have a literary degree?’

‘Well no but -’

‘There you go! Who the fuck does he think he is to comment on your choice of characters? Huh, guess I shouldn’t either…’

‘No no, Crowley. None of that. I was the one who asked you about your opinion to begin with, didn’t I?’

‘Satan only knows why…’

‘My dear boy, let’s not go through this again. I’ll go to the kitchen and make us some tea, why don’t I? That should go nicely with the apple crumble,’ Aziraphale’s whole face just lit up as soon as he thought about the pie.

Crowley could spend all of eternity looking at that face and be content.

But then a storm cloud fell on the angel’s face yet again and his expression shifted into a frown.

‘Well, maybe not the pie. I mean you can have some but maybe it’s best if I don’t.’

Crowley could kill a bloke.

Not just a bloke in general. A very specific one. Painfully and prolonged over a long stretch of time.

He remembered Aziraphale’s dejected look on Christmas day and even if he didn’t understand it at the time he now put two and two together for what they were and realised that that stupid sod had beeen the reason for the angel’s discomfort even back then.

‘Angel?’

‘Yes, dear?’

‘Was he the guy you phoned on Christmas when I came over unexpectedly like the stupid cunt that I am?’

‘Crowley!’

‘Yeah whatever, language and what not. Was he?’

‘Ye…yes.’

‘What was that about, then? You were so gloomy even my wit and charm couldn’t pull you out of your sulk for hours, so he had to have said something.’

‘I really don’t want to talk about it, Crowley.’

‘Was it about the way you look?’

Aziraphale dropped his gaze and started inspecting the carpet as if it was the most interesting first edition he had ever laid eyes on. He even shifted slightly away from Crowley who was now inspecting his profile cautiously for any sign of future discomfort. But he couldn’t help it. He really really couldn’t, impulse control being very much something that happened to other people.

‘Was it,’ he nearly growled and Aziraphale closed his eyes giving him the smallest of nods. Blink and you’ll miss it, almost. But Crowley wasn’t blinking and Crowley was furious.

‘Fuck this shit,’ he muttered through gritted teeth and got up from the couch heading towards the door without even bothering to put on his coat or anything.

‘Crowley, I -’

The door closed with a loud bang and the bell atop of it continued to ring for half a minute.

Aziraphale let his head fall down and drew in a deep breath, trying his best to understand what had just happened.

He didn’t have much success.

What seemed like and eternity later but was actually just a couple of minutes the bell started ringing again.

Before Aziraphale could even get up to tell whoever had come in that they were definitely closed he raised his eyes and saw Crowley with a box of macaroons in hand.

_Oh god, no._

He couldn’t afford those.

It was obvious that the expression on his face betrayed him as Crowley dropped the box unceremoniously in his lap and then flung himself back on the couch.

‘I know that you know those were really expensive for me to buy. I am not stupid, you know. I notice stuff.’

Aziraphale wondered where this was going.

‘And I know that you go out of your way for all of our little rendezvous to just so happen in places where I am not obligated to spend any money – ah ah, don’t try to lie to me, angel.’

This was said as Aziraphale nearly jumped out of his chair in the haste he had to deny such a claim.

‘You make sure that you arrive before I do and take care of the check. Always. And we always go to places where indeed, one needs to pay for stuff at the till when ordering. Which are not your particular kind of places and they don’t provide the best of treats. But you do it anyway so that I don’t have to spend any money. The first time I took your word for it. The second time I thought it to be a mere coincidence but by the third time I was mighty angry with you.’

Aziraphale lowered his gaze yet again in shame at both duping Crowley and being found out.

‘But then Bea talked some sense into me, like they usually do and I got it for what it was which was you trying to spend time with a friend. And since I couldn’t afford all of those fancy places that you like, you made a compromise. For me. Much like you are doing when we spend our time here and I completely annihilate your expensive reserve that I would never in a million years be able to purchase. So you must know that I don’t need to be coddled and be treated with white gloves, like I must also just get over my inferiority complex once and for all and that is why I need you to let me treat you to stuff every now and again.’

‘I never said you don’t -’

‘Good. So then you’ll eat those because you realise I spent a a whole lot of cash on them.’

‘I…really?’

‘Yeah, really.’

‘But why would you -’

‘Because you deserve nice things. And you deserve to feel good. And because you like sweets. And if I ever, and I do mean EVER hear that sanctimonious fucker ever guilt trip you into giving up treats I swear that I WILL punch him.’

‘Well, you are sort of guilt-tripping me into eating these at the moment, dear.’

‘I…NO! No no, throw them away if you don’t want them. No, please don’t think that!’

‘Crowley, dear, please calm down. It was only a joke. I would never think that about you. Here, I’ll try them. But you have to try some as well, yes?’

‘I mean, I’m not that big of a fan.’

‘Have you ever tried any?’

‘I mean sweets, angel. I bought them for you.’

‘And I want to share. Please?’

‘Yeah, angel. Anything you want.’

_Oh he was just colossally stupid, wasn’t he?_

Aziraphale went to the kitchen to retrieve those small china plates that made him look like someone’s grandma and some small pastry knives and he divided all of the little treats in two, spreading them equally on the delicate plates.

_Of course he wouldn’t eat them like any sane person which was by hand._

Crowley popped one into his mouth and it was slightly pistachio flavoured and not that bad. _Or maybe it was very pistachio flavoured_ but Crowley couldn’t remember the last time he had pistachio. That didn’t fit into the general budget.

‘How do you like it, dear?’ Aziraphale asked while also trying half of one that Crowley recognised as strawberry.

‘S’ fine.’

Aziraphale seemed to be of a different opinion as he delighted in his bite.

‘Just fine?’

‘I mean, I ate worse stuff. S’ okay. Still don’t get why one has to sell their first born son to buy four of those small buggers.’

‘Well, you didn't have to, my dear.’

‘Shuddup and eat your sweets angel,’ he pushed his own plate towards Aziraphale and tried making himself comfortable on the couch yet again aspiring to copy his position from earlier on before that shitstain of a cousin of the angel’s had arrived.

He didn’t particularly reach sprawling all over the place like you have no proper bones Nirvana as a book started prodding him in the ribs.

It was the one about the catapults. And all of the other war machines but the catapults were the ones he had any interest in at the moment.

‘Say, angel, would you go over the second part of the siege with me. I’m not particularly good at combat scenes. I mostly do the magicky bits.

‘I’m sure you’ll be excellent at it, dear. And also, that is not a word.’

Crowley rolled his eyes but didn’t further comment as he placed his head on the armrest and gave Aziraphale a besotted look66 as the angel continued to make little sounds of enjoyment around the treats.

He could spend the rest of his life doing just this, he realised with a contented sigh as he felt his eyes close and slowly drift off to sleep.

** Saturday, January 20th **

Aziraphale was debating whether or not to pull the old girl out of the garage for their little foray in the land of previously owned knick-knacks. And books, of course. The books were the main interest after all.

It wasn’t as if Aziraphale wasn’t aware of the existence of flea markets at least as a concept but he had never entertained the thought of buying anything from there, on the few occasions when he stumbled upon one being far more intrigued by people watching than anything else.

Up so far he had always bought his old books from other antiquarians or old book collectors but, judging by his Christmas present alone, this avenue needed some serious investigation.

And, the way Crowley described it, there would be crates upon crates of them.

He vaguely entertained the idea of a cab but imagined that the cabbie would make a huge fuss at being made to wait, despite whatever tip Aziraphale would come up with. He had been subject to cabbie ire before.

So the old girl it was. Even if that meant having to visit the old family home. With Crowley.

He was well aware that Crowley fully understood that he had a lot of money. On an abstract level, at least, since other than spending a fortune on a book every now and then67 and having an extensive collection of stellar wines and quite a wide array of excellent whiskies, he didn’t usually flaunt his wealth if he could help it. He lived in a cramped space above a bookshop that could have used several touch-up jobs along the ages. He mostly walked everywhere or took the tube if there was no other option. He still dressed in clothes that he bought some ten or fifteen years ago. He didn’t make a big thing out of his fame and vehemently refused any movie deals for his books. So, on a certain level, he didn’t precisely act like someone who was the sole heir of a huge and rather in poor taste68 manor on Hampstead Heath.

So he had a day or so to fidget about it before deciding that Crowley would find out about that bit of his life at some point anyway if they kept meeting up every other day when daily wasn’t possible. And since he very much wanted to continue doing that for as long as possible69 he just had to come to terms with it.

Alright, so they would take the car. Davies could drive it. Or maybe Hopkins. Of course, there was no more need for a driver on hold and despite Aziraphale wanting to keep as much of the old staff as possible because of the kindness of his heart, even he realised the futility of having a driver on hold for someone who barely visited the manor, never mind go for rides for the fun of it.

But both the cook and the gardener were eyeing the car with a greedy eye and, unlike Aziraphale, did actually possess a driver’s licence.

Crowley arrived at the bookshop bright and early and it was the first time Aziraphale actually saw the man before noon. But, as Crowley informed him, all the best deals would be over by that time and most of the people would pack up and go home by the time he usually woke up. And he didn’t even figure in the time it would take them to get there and the drive back.

Crowley would of course have offered to act the part of Aziraphale’s glorified shopping cart but unfortunately he didn’t own a car anymore. He had had to sell that to pay for the deposit for the flat that he had been kicked out of, for all the good that did to him. And Bea absolutely refused to get a car of their own. Knowing Aziraphale he would probably need a moving truck and not a car at the end of the day but that was of little import. If the man said they needed to go and retrieve his car for this particular outing then so be it. He liked to antagonise the angel, sure, but never deny him anything. Even if that meant taking a sodding bus. _Who the hell took a bus anymore?_

And then a twenty minutes walk. At least he had his coffee to keep him warm.

‘Could have bloody told me we’re going to the far end of the known galaxy, angel. Would have woken up at five or given up sleep altogether.’

‘Oh, shush you. It’s not that far away. We’re nearly there.’

‘What do you mean we’re nearly there? We’re in Posh-man Land. And the draught is something awful, for the record.’

Aziraphale levelled him with a look and continued walking for another couple of minutes until he reached an ornate wrought iron gate and pressed the button on the intercom.

‘Oh, sir, such a pleasant surprise, I’ll send someone to open the gate immediately.’

‘Oh dear, did I forget to call? Terribly sorry for the inconvenience,’ Aziraphale started fiddling with his ring like he did when he was nervous and Crowley was confused about all of this.

‘What’sssss going on angel?’ Crowley hissed looking around cautiously like at any point someone would spot them and call the police about some plebeians trespassing on their land.

Aziraphale didn’t have any time to answer however as a youth was hurrying towards them and Aziraphale waved at him politely.

‘Terribly sorry, mister Fell, sir,’ he managed after getting his breath back in check and even went for a small bow as he opened the gate.

‘The fuck,’ Crowley managed under his breath before getting a sharp prod to the ribs and a Look from Aziraphale.

The other two men headed towards the house that looked like something out of Downton Abbey. He didn’t know exactly if that was the case, more like a figure of speech, despite Bea bugging him to watch it over and over again and starting to speak in posh accents around the flat whenever he was feeling terribly down. Hearing Dana even attempt to try that in her cockney accent was pure torture. 

He had no other option but to follow, still massaging his ribs and in a complete state of shock.

As soon as they reached the main entrance there were a bunch of people waiting for them and they acknowledged Aziraphale with a polite nod while one of them greeted the angel personally and they started chatting.

Crowley’s brain was trying to do some very complex mathematics like put two and two together and honestly, maths had never been his strong suit.

‘Could I get any refreshments for you sir, while you wait for the car to be ready?’ the old man that was talking to Aziraphale said. Well, he had said a lot of things but this was the first thing that finally registered in Crowley’s mind. ‘For you and your friend, mister….?’

‘Crowley,’ he heard himself reply automatically as people like the prim-looking man in front of him always got that reaction from him to his great annoyance. His inner self rebelled against it and he added a mock two-finger salute in the mix.

This earned him a look that measured him from head to toes and obviously found him lacking. Crowley almost visibly flinched. He had never felt so small and out of place in his life. He tried stuffing his hands in his pockets as best as he could and look down at the ground.

And then Aziraphale cleared his throat and that of course prompted Crowley’s gaze to immediately snap to the angel and his mouth to fall open in shock.

Aziraphale was looking at the man – butler, Crowley surmised after that pesky math was had been dealt with – with possibly the haughtiest expression known to man.

Crowley had seen Aziraphale at his bitchiest before70 with a couple of customers who wouldn’t take no for an answer. That was absolutely nothing compared to the way he looked now. This was basically Aziraphale achieving his final form. It was as if you condensed all of the centuries of noble breeding then ground that up and made a concentrate from it.

He stood there, chin held high and somehow looking down at the man even if he was standing several steps below him and levelled the butler with such a disdainful look that Crowley’s mind could only provide the apt inner comment of “Finish him!”.

‘My _friend_ and I won’t be staying. I just need the car brought around.’

It was obvious for Crowley that none of the other members of the staff had ever seen that side of Aziraphale before either by the way they all stood there dumbstruck.

‘That would be all, Jennings,’ Aziraphale added when almost a minute passed and none of them made any motion to move from the spot where they were glued to.

That served as an immediate reminder for them to get their bearings together and each go about their business, one of them apparently going for “the car”.

Crowley had a hard time processing everything that was happening. Okay so he knew Aziraphale was a posh bastard. He just apparently wasn’t aware just how posh, or how much of a bastard.

He had a mansion. Manor. Fucking castle. Whatever. _Wow._

And staff. Ten of them. Who all nodded and curtsied and addressed him with sir and… and… _wow_.

And he had just gone and done _THAT_. Crowley didn’t know how to feel about it. On the one hand he really hated class differences. And he hated the high and mighty treating other people as if they were inferior. He had immediately felt inadequate as soon as the butler laid eyes on him. On the other hand Aziraphale was a kind soul who volunteered to help people out at several nearby churches on Sundays.71 He knew all of his neighbours by name.72 He liked little street corner cafes and a lot of quaint little trinkets you would never associate with nobility.

And yet…

The moment he threw the butler – Johnson, was it? – that look was the moment any doubt about them being in the wrong place completely vanished from Crowley’s mind. That look screamed of generations of this being bred into him. It was… _hot_? Okay, maybe not that since everything about Aziraphale was hot. But it was certainly something else…

And then all of the warring thoughts in his head immediately drew to a halt. Weapons were laid down, truces were made, some of them maybe even went off into the sunset together holding hands. Despite the shock that Aziraphale wasn’t only a rich bastard but a rich posh one and despite him sitting in front of THAT house, nothing mattered anymore as one of the staff members brought “the car” around.

No. Scratch that. That felt impolite. He brought The Car around.

He must have been staring at the masterpiece in front of him – steel and mechanics turned to artform – for a while because Aziraphale gently touched his shoulder trying to suggest that they, as he would put it, “get a wiggle on”.

And then he stared some more. And then started circling it because he was often prone to doing that if something caught his fancy.

This had to be the most beautiful car he had ever laid eyes on, all sleek black lines and stainless steel.

The man who brought it around climbed out and pointed Crowley towards the backseat.

He looked from him to Aziraphale with a confused expression.

‘Aren’t you driving, angel?’

‘Oh no. I don’t have a licence. But Davies here can drive us.’

‘Could I… nah, it’s stupid.’

‘Do you… want to drive it?’

Crowley could not raise his eyes from the impeccable looking car but he gathered that he must have nodded in approval or something because Aziraphale said something to the man who had brought the car over and received a key for his troubles.

The young man seemed to want to throw Crowley a nasty look but, remembering Aziraphale’s earlier reaction, decided not to.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure, dear. Let’s go get those books.’

Crowley smirked at him and got behind the wheel without any further commentary. Probably because he thought that Aziraphale would back off on his offer.

And then they were out the gates in a matter of seconds as Crowley shouted that this was the best day of his life, loudly and deliberately, both windows rolled down.

None of them noticed the grey Jaguar waiting to be let inside the estate nor the sour expression on its occupant’s face.

64For a given value of sitting.

65Well, late afternoon but everything that happened before 6 pm was morning for Crowley.

66Thank God for sunglasses.

67More now than then.

68If you asked Aziraphale at any rate.

69Preferably forever.

70Or so he previously thought.

71They had had several debates on the subject. Not the volunteering bit, Crowley approved of that, but religion in general. Crowley did not particularly approve of that. But Aziraphale was an angel through and through and if faith was a part of who he was, Crowley would gladly accept that. That did not mean he didn’t like to ruffle some feathers or that he didn’t like their theological debates. Especially the ones happening well into their third bottle of wine.

72He even knew their relatives’ names which was something that Crowley’s mind still couldn’t wrap itself around, names being something that he regarded as a subject that he could always have a poetic license on.


	16. ... there was a story...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the bois continue to be clueless. That's basically it. I would say I am sorry but I am not.
> 
> I am however sorry about posting this late, yet again. Could I appease you with some Crowley, Bea and Dana art that, if the internet-savvy pixies teach me how to embed, I will add to the first chapter? I just got a tablet and fawned over that instead of writing. As one does...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am also sorry that quite a lot of this chapter is devoted to some more bits of Crowley's story instead of the main story. It is by pure happenstance that some of the pieces there resemble the main plotline since I have written that whole bit 2-3 years ago as an original piece. When I found my old notebooks I couldn't believe it. But the pining and the drinking and the debating religion together had so many A&C vibes that I simply...
> 
> There is also quite a lot of discussion about religion - in a fictional universe inside a fictional universe but still. 
> 
> And also, that story is the meta of a meta of a meta. I am also making fun of myself as a writer in all of Aziraphale's commentaries. You will see.
> 
> If the "he"/"she" repetitions seem a bit much that is because I had to cut out the names out of the story. Not to mention half of the backstory to begin with since that had faaaaaar too many side characters. So if it sounds stilted that's why.

** Saturday, February 10th **

The Saturday at the flea market had been an absolute blast, or so Crowley thought, judging by the look of sheer joy on Aziraphale’s face and how he prattled for hours on end about all of the lovely finds and fussed about them as if they were some adorable baby kittens or something.

Crowley had stood back and relaxed taking the image of the angel in and Satan help him, he could bask in it forever, seeing Aziraphale’s eyes shine with happiness and his smile so wide that his cheeks would probably be hurting come morrow.

By which is to say, once they got everything loaded in the Bentley – no, scratch that – The Bentley73 and it was all stacked up so high he could hardly see anything in the rear-view mirror74 and after hefting all of the crates into the bookshop proper that he stood back and relaxed, albeit a little strained from all of the effort. Aziraphale on the other hand seemed perfectly at ease, not even breaking into a light sweat. _Food for thought, that_. Even if he’d keep those thoughts to himself and act upon them later.

The oncoming week was also basically spent lugging crates around and arranging and rearranging books on the shelves – Aziraphale and trying to write some more and finish Faeridance because he had promised the angel that he would but secretly letting his gaze wander in the other man’s direction – Crowley.

And then he went and did it and stuck his foot in his mouth yet again. Things have been going so well too, both of them acting almost domestic around each other. Making each other cocoa or coffee. Discussing story arcs and character motivations. Talking about where that complete shitstain of a person, Gabriel, can go and shove his opinions about literature75. Feeding the ducks whenever possible. At some point Adam had even dragged his mum to the bookshop because he was in the mood to hear about more history. She had thoroughly approved of that and left the young hellion in Crowley’s semi-capable hands before leaving for her shift. Everything had been perfect. And then he went and ruined it.

‘Say, angel, did you happen to hear anything from your posh publishing house about my thing?’ he asked casually, nose deep in a book about heraldry. He wasn’t even looking at Aziraphale as the angel was pottering about organising76 some books on the shelves.

But he realised that there was something monumentally wrong the moment all shuffling stopped.

He looked up from the volume only to see Aziraphale perfectly still. Like a statue.

He was already on the verge of getting up from the couch when Aziraphale turned to face him trying to fiddle with the buttons of his waistcoat.

‘Oh, rather. I… I didn’t hear back yet. But you know how it is. A lot of manuscripts, not enough editors. It takes a while,’ he said with a slight smile that never reached his eyes.

Crowley hated that look on him. And what he hated even more was that he was the one to cause it. He couldn’t forgive himself for that.

_But what did he say or do to get Aziraphale so on the fence?_

_Did he offend in any way?_

Maybe the angel didn’t want to help him publish his stories after all and this conversation was making him uncomfortable.

He would let it drop then. _Of course he would_. He never wanted to make the angel uncomfortable.

‘No worries, angel. There’s still plenty of time to go yet. And hey, it’s not like they’re all finished anyway. So it’s all good,’ he replied trying to coax his most encouraging smile and that seemed to put Aziraphale at ease if only just a bit. ‘I’ll get this finished by the end of the week and then there’s the one with the soldiers and then I can focus solely on the one with the witch and the wizard. And you are going to help.’

‘Of course, dear.’

And that had been that. Weird that Aziraphale avoided talking about publishing deals, but no matter. Crowley had plans to make if he wanted to surprise Aziraphale with the best Valentine’s day the angel had ever experienced. He still had no idea what he was gonna do and honestly, he had never ever done anything for Valentine’s day before other than purchase candy at half the price on the fifteenth before, it not being something that was exactly right up his alley. But he would pull all the stops for Aziraphale.

He had started being a lot more charming with the customers earning three times as many tips. That got him a mixed reaction from Eric who one evening told him: “see, I knew you could do it if you put your heart into it” only for him to look at him dubiously and ask him: “just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” the oncoming evening. He blamed that on mood swings.

He even volunteered to help out a little bit more at Iris’s flower shop for the perks that were flowers that didn’t sell by the end of the day. Also because he liked the old biddy, but no one had to know that. The fact that after the first week of part-time shifts in which he helped her out with the cleaning and the lugging in of fresh flowers in the early hours of the morning just after his diner shifts ended earned him a hundred quid was also quite the added bonus. The second week he started helping out with the flower arrangements in the window and she declared him a natural.

So, flowers – check. Money – also check. He just had to come up with an idea. Oh, and of course, ask Aziraphale if he was willing to spend that particular day together. Not like a date date – he didn’t want to scare the angel off. More casual-like.

‘Angel, you busy later on this week?’

And then Aziraphale’s face fell yet again.

_Why did he keep doing this?_

‘Unfortunately, yes. I’ll be gone all week. Gabriel’s planned a book tour,’ he said with obvious distaste.

Crowley just hummed in response but felt a little heartbroken. Not only would the angel be spending Valentine’s Day alone but he would be spending the whole week doing something he hated in the presence of someone he hated.

Well. He’ll just have to come up with something for when Aziraphale came back. And bug him with texts incessantly to get his mind off things. And probably get a lot of writing done so they could chat about it when the angel returned.

** Wednesday, February 21st **

The book signing tour had gone according to plan, or at least according to Gabriel’s plan, him commenting about the large turnout on more than one occasion during the passing week.

He had also commented about Aziraphale’s sartorial choices, the fact that he refused to sign a movie deal, whatever Aziraphale choose to order at any restaurant and about the fact that “he seemed to continue in his silly notion of writing about nobodies, surely no one wants to read that”. Aziraphale had taken a page out of Gabriel’s own book though, and explained that he was trying to “Game of Thrones the whole thing up” which got him a satisfied smile and a healthy smack on the shoulder that nearly made him lose his balance.

There have been other, far more unpleasant, topics of discussion that had prompted Aziraphale to spend most of his evenings in his hotel room eating room service and declaring that he had a headache77. Not to mention that he had rather hoped he’d spend Valentine’s Day with Crowley. Just another day in the backroom of the bookshop, nothing fancy since there was no romantic component to their relationship but he just missed him. Instead he was in Edinburgh alone in his hotel room and the weather was something abysmal. Horizontally was not a particularly common direction in which rain was supposed to fall and yet…

He had four more days of having to put up with this, with the smiling and the signing and… Gabriel of all people, and then he would return home and be able to see Crowley again. That had been all that had kept him going, honestly.

And now here he was, back at the bookshop and everything was just to the way it used to, as if he hadn’t left at all.

Crowley had come in sometime in the late afternoon and made himself at home on the couch after presenting Aziraphale with a box of eclairs. They needed to have a word or two about all the gifts but he really didn’t want to embarrass Crowley or insult him by suggesting he shouldn’t be able to afford them.

He had managed to finish Faeriedance - Aziraphale had read it on the train back to London and it was glorious. He had even managed to finish most of the soldier story, which was a personal favourite of Bea’s, as he was given to understand, because of all of the dragons. And a lot of strong soldier ladies. But mostly the dragons.

Aziraphale was glad to have contributed to that if only just a little bit by suggesting that Crowley should do what the ancient Greeks did and round the soldiers up into couples to make them fiercer in battle and capitalise on their relationship and the way they would fight to avenge a dead lover. He loved it when history could make its way into fiction and the Sacred Band of Thebes was certainly something that fit Crowley’s story perfectly. Or, _well_ , the fictional version of that, at least.

And now he got to finally read what Crowley had come up with for the wizard story. He loved all of them dearly but, somehow, he related with this one most of all. For some unknown reason, the more he read, the more he noticed similarities between him and the young witch. Which was complete nonsense, of course, but that didn’t stop him doing it.

Aziraphale put on his reading glasses that were not prescription but “made him look respectable”, as he had confided in Crowley at some point and had been met with a bark of laughter. He then refrained from adding that he found them “nifty” for fear of any further light hearted ridicule. He had printed the last chapter of Crowley’s story because he preferred to read things on paper whenever possible78. And then he leaned back into his armchair and started reading the draft.

_She could not pinpoint exactly when it was that her dislike for the bloke gave way to… friendship? Oh, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Companionship maybe? An argument here, a spell gone awry there, a heated discussion on philosophy or twenty over a couple of carafes of wine._

_The point was that it happened, she realised as, upon seeing his figure climb the narrow staircase leading to the rooftop, she didn’t sneer like she would have done, she instead waved him over with a smile._

_He stilled for a moment in his steps as if asking for permission to approach. Of course he would do that, judging by the abysmal way in which she had treated him at the beginning._

_She was sitting down on the pavement, her back resting on the side of one of the fountains. She cradled a book in her arms and was sipping from a glass of magically cooled wine. She scooted over for a bit to make room for the newcomer in between the honeysuckle bushes. He nodded slightly, a warm smile on his lips._

_“Milady, such a pleasure to see you here. I thought I’d be the only one to come up here tonight.”_

_“Do you want me to leave?”_

_“No! No no. I just thought that what with the commotion earlier on today everyone else would be rather occupied.”_

_“I have to admit I haven’t seen any of the others around either for the last couple of hours. I had to dine alone which was rather bothersome, but I did manage to keep myself entertained with the help of a good book.”_

_It wasn’t a particularly good book but rather a difficult read and she couldn’t say she agreed with the old wizard’s opinions either. It was a compendium on Divinity and Belief. Not exactly light reading if it came to that, posing a lot of questions about said belief. She was rather put off by the whole thing._

_When you actually knew the Gods existed what was the point of belief anyway? You didn’t go around believing in breakfast or the sun going up every morning, now did you?_

‘Crowley, you’re pushing this again?’

‘Wut?’ Crowley answered aptly from the mountain of pillows that he surrounded himself with. Aziraphale didn’t even know he had so many of them around the bookshop to begin with and yet here they were making the couch look like a proper pillowfort. He must have nicked them from all of the armchairs and reading alcoves around. He would scold him later about that, now having something else on his mind.

‘Your endless religion debates.’

‘Yeah. It’s my work after all.’

‘Fair point. But I still think you could ease up a bit about the thing.’

‘Can’t talk to you about it. Can’t write it in my story. Whatever am I to do?’ Crowley asked all dramatically.

‘Oh hush and let me read, you menace.’

‘Mhm.’

_She actually wanted to hear the young wizard’s opinion on the whole thing. She had come to realise during the last couple of months that many of his opinions mirrored her own in a lot of ways and when they didn’t he always had a rather valid point of view. He was the only one out of their little group to match her in her own brand of curiosity with vague hints of sarcasm and pure wonder thrown in for good measure. The others were alright, she supposed, but when it came to argue religion and philosophy it was best not to broach the subject when all of them were around. Her brother, for starters, could not be bothered. The empath was far too pure a soul to actually engage in any of this and the elves would just chug it to nature’s magic altogether and be done with it._

_So that left the young wizard, for tonight at least, to mentally spar against. She found out she had no problem with that, much to her own surprise._

‘Is she ever going to realise that she likes the bloke and be done with it? I understand that she had her misgivings at first but, honestly, he has been nothing but civil towards her and helped her out whenever she needed help. Even saved her that one time when the dragon got involved. I feel like it takes forever for her to warm up to him.’

‘The longer it takes, the longer the story.’

‘Of course, of course. But the poor chap seems to be in love with her.’

‘Hopelessly.’

‘Well, then you see my point.’

‘Mhm.’

_He summoned a small orb of light directly above her head and she raised an eyebrow at him._

_“If you wish to continue with your reading,” he explained and she realised that she must have strained her eyes for the last couple of hours or so, only counting on the dim light that filtered from the coloured panes of glass of one the nearest pavillions._

_“No, I think I am quite done. Unless, of course, you want to…” she pointed at the scrolls that lay in his lap._

_“No, I don’t think I will. It’s been a tiring day altogether. I thought I’d be alone and get bored. But with you around, milady, that’s hardly an option.”_

‘Oh, he’s so sweet! Reminds me a bit of you, dear boy.’

Crowley chose not to comment on this and continued to scribble in his notepad instead very obviously not turning every shade of crimson.

_She said nothing, not knowing if she should be more upset at how her cheeks coloured and her heart fluttered at the compliment or how he still kept insisting on calling her “milady” although she had told him a thousand times to just call her by her name, like a regular person._

_She hummed instead and conjured a second glass which she promptly filled with what was left of the wine and passed it along._

_“There’s some food as well, if you’ve skipped dinner.”_

_He’d skipped more meals than one could possibly count during his life, but this one he had no intention of skipping if she was the one doing the offering._

_She passed the wooden tray over as well and it was still laden with cheeses, some sweet bread and a wide array of fruits. It did wonders to befriend the kitchen staff._

_He eyed the tray dubiously but did take a nibble or two. He didn’t look as sickly as when she had first laid eyes on him but he still wasn’t the picture of perfect health. He still looked far too skinny in those elvish clothes that he favoured these days. It was not so much that he favoured them but that he had a very hard time saying no to the elves. He had said no to her brother on more than one occasion, especially regarding charity. He had been quite vehement about that. But whenever the elves offered, he complied, so here he was, dressed in elf garb a couple of sizes too big, despite the fact that they were lean bastards to begin with, those elves._

‘See, I told you that elves could be good,’ Aziraphale smiled widely.

‘What are you on about?’

‘They gifted him clothes and books and everything. Got him out of those rags he wore at the beginning. And the scene with the cloak, oh my dear, that was so heart breaking.’

‘Leave it be, angel. Elves are bastards. They only like him because he is a bastard too.’

‘Well, I do not think he is in the slightest. Like I said. He is very kind and very sweet.’

Crowley decided to grace that with one of his signature consonants compilations and leave it at that.

_She let him eat in peace as she waved a hand and replenished the carafe and only then noticed that he was still clutching at the scrolls with one hand._

_“What are those about then?”_

_“The Gods. The really old ones that people don’t believe in anymore.”_

_“Funny thing, that,” she offered her own book for him to inspect. “I see that today’s class rattled all of us a bit. Even if I can’t understand why we have to bother with that to begin with. We know they exist.”_

_“Of course, WE know, but most of the people out there don’t dabble in magic so they aren’t as fortunate. Belief is all they have at the end of the day. Hope for a better tomorrow and all of that,” he said wistfully._

_“But it doesn’t have to be like that, better tomorrow be damned! We all know they don’t care about any of us in the slightest. We could tell the others that as well. And then they can spend their lives doing more productive things than praying to someone who doesn’t listen. And stop putting their souls in the hands of someone who never did anything for them.”_

_“Maybe for some people it’s all they have. You’d go around completely shattering their belief system blaspheming like that.”_

_“Blaspheming? I was not blaspheming. Saying that the Gods serve no purpose, now that would be blaspheming.”_

_“I’m pretty sure that was where you were going with that.”_

_“No, I merely said that they can’t be bothered with the likes of us. I am certain that they have a purpose. Maybe one far too grand for us to understand. But without a purpose what would be the point of having Gods to begin with?”_

_“Well we don’t serve any particular purpose, you and I, and yet here we are, debating divinity and enjoying a very tasty wine,” he said demurely as he took a couple of sips._

_The lady, for her part, was staring at him, mouth agape._

_“What do you mean we don’t have a purpose? Of course we do!”_

‘I have to say that I agree with her,’ Aziraphale mused.

‘Mhm?’

‘About us having a purpose. Of course we do.’

‘Of course you do.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Of course you would agree with her, you’re an angel. You need to believe in a higher power and what was it you called it? Ah, an ineffable purpose.’

‘Please don’t mock me.’

‘Never, angel. It’s just how things are. But yeah, I need the two of them to be on opposite sides on this. She never questions the fact that gods do indeed exist and that there is a higher purpose. But you know how important the power of belief is in my story and how powerful the gods get if people pray to them and offer them sacrifices. The gods are not doing awfully nice things with all that power as you’ll see by the end. And she just doesn’t want to let that pass. Knowing something exists is different than believing it exists. Knowing is just knowing. Belief gives it power. He, on the on the other hand, has tried being an optimist all of his life up until he wasn’t anymore. I guess they’re both cynics in their own way. Read on. You’ll see what I’m talking about.’

_“Pray then tell me what great purpose do we serve, you and me? In the grand scheme of things. What purpose did my parents serve? Dying in agony surrounded by flames while they left an eight year old on the streets to fend for himself. Is that your idea of a purpose? I’ve spent all of my waking hours for the last decade and a half believing that. Praying for that. Hoping against hope that some day a divine presence would just appear in front of me and tell me it wasn’t all for naught. It’s what kept me sane all of those years. So that’s why I’m saying that belief is important. Belief is good. But I can’t kid myself anymore about there being a higher purpose to all of this. Do you know what I saw in the last port city? There was this youth, barely sixteen, butchered beyond belief on the steps of one of the Temples. He was but a child. Where is the greater purpose in that? People exist and Gods exist and there is no purpose to any of us. Not to even mention the existence of free will. That matter alone negates the idea of a higher purpose. If I am put on this Earth to save it from extinction but choose not to? Or if I am put here to end the world but decide on taking my own life instead? Where’s the higher plan? Where’s the purpose?” he finished his tirade with a heavy sigh and then downed his cup of wine._

Aziraphale bit the inside of his cheek and refrained from further commenting. _Oh, Lord_. Of course Crowley would think that, poor darling. And he had gone and argued with him about the whole debacle. _He’d better apologise_ , he thought as his eyes scanned the next lines.

_“I didn’t know. I am so sor-“_

_“Don’t say it. Don’t say sorry. I couldn’t possibly bear it. I’m the one who brought the doom and gloom into the conversation and for that I am the one who should be sorry. I really shouldn’t have imposed,” he tried to get up only to be stopped by a thin hand land ever so gently on his._

_“Please stay a while. It seems like you need a friend. And I know I have been anything but lately but I am here now. So please?”_

_He sighed again and turned his face towards her, all pretence gone from his features. He looked like he could cry. And even if she had hated him for a long while, for all of his powers and the way he had managed to sneak into everyone’s hearts, she found her heart breaking for him now. So she did the unthinkable and took both of his hands into hers, placing them on her waist as she draped her own arms around his shoulders, hugging him fiercely._

_It took a while for him to lean into the hug and for his stiff limbs to relax but he managed eventually. So he wrapped his arms tightly around her and sighed against her shoulder. And then it hit her. The impropriety of it all. Maybe it hit her because this was very improper. Her, a highborn lady in such a comforting embrace with a mere commoner. But most probably it hit her because she found that she very much enjoyed it and that was upsetting in it of itself. She nearly cleared her throat and let go. Nearly. Because he really needed this as much as she didn’t like it, or did, apparently. At some point or other her fingers started carding through his hair but that was not something that her conscious mind had any say in, fingers and hands be damned._

_He was the one to let go first and the first thing she nearly did was let out a huff of annoyance. Again. Nearly. She did still possess an ounce of propriety at least._

_He had an impossible to read look on his face and she would have paid some good money for some of those mind readers to give her some intensive private lessons any minute now._

_The way he sighed yet again and averted his gaze left her thinking that this, all of this, could lead to another thing entirely, so of course she cleared her throat and followed that with a non-sequitur._

_“Gods, eh? Damn bastards the lot of them.”_

_And then she heard him snort and this was more like it, them returning to old and familiar patterns instead of whatever that had been. She mentally congratulated herself._

‘Crowley, I swear you are killing me with these two.’

He made a point not to touch on any of the sensitive subjects as he had no idea how to broach the subject of Crowley’s own mother and the hell that Crowley had been through for all of his teenage years. This felt like safer ground.

‘Hmm?’

‘Are they ever going to get together? They’ve been dancing around each other for months now. I feel like you’re doing this on purpose by this point.’

‘I dunno angel. Like I said, the odds are pretty stacked against them what with her being of noble birth and them both having to fight the God of Death himself in the bit at the end and all.’

‘It’s rather infuriating, let me tell you. Especially since you promised me a happy ending.’

‘I promised no such thing. I said I’d _like_ a happy ending, not that we’re getting any. Maybe I could make them get together only to make them break up later, how’s that sound?’

‘I know you’re jesting but you truly are a terror,’ Aziraphale pouted at him and looked for something to throw at him but unfortunately all of the pillows were on the couch and not the armchair. He made a mental note to keep pillow ammunition on hand for the next time he would read more of Crowley’s story.

‘Anyway. It reads fine but I would shift the bit about Gods gaining power the more people believed in them in the text so it doesn’t come out of the blue.’

‘You’re right. That works. Listen, as thrilling as it is sitting here and listening to you fawn over my work - and it is, trust me, it is - I need to get to work soon. How about I grab us some of that fudge you like from the market tomorrow and we can talk about what our darlingest Anne is going to do next in yours, hmm?’

‘Oh, dear, you don’t need to do that,’ Aziraphale quipped in as he got up to follow Crowley to the door. He knew the market Crowley was talking about wasn’t terribly expensive, but still.

‘I will hear no other protests, angel. You’ll have your fudge and eat it too.’

‘That’s cake, dear,’ Aziraphale tutted at him as he watched Crowley button up his jacket and try to get his hair to look like he hadn’t spent the last couple of hours buried in a pile of pillows.

‘I will make a mental note of that. Cake it is. Oh, I almost forgot, I got this for you. The shop, I mean,’ he poked his hand into his bag and pulled out a bouquet of daisies that have seen better days.

‘I didn’t mean to imply that… oh, thank you, they’re lovely!’

‘Mneh, I should have given them to you hours ago. Now they look mangy and wilted.’

‘I am sure they’ll get better as soon as I put them in water. You really didn’t need to, dear.’

‘S’nuthin’, angel. Like I said, the bookshop needs something green in it. See you tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow, yes. Quite. Mind how you go,’ Aziraphale offered and then he locked the door still looking at the bouquet in his hands with a dazed expression.

 _Surely Crowley must have known the language of flowers, no?_ It seemed like something he would research for the story, together with all of his other interests. _He had to know what all of the flowers meant, right?_ He just had to. He’d ask him next time around.

73Crowley still could not believe that he got to drive such a beauty. Even if “drive” was not the word Aziraphale had used upon climbing out of it and then leaning on a traffic pole to get the world to stop spinning. Crowley was a firm believer in the fact that cars had to move all the time, and very quickly at that. Not like stupid twenty-year-old Fiats that wouldn’t start up even as they saw the drunken driver heading their way and not being able to get his own car in check. But that was neither here nor there. And he would not let his thoughts go back to THAT. So. Bentley. _What an absolute marvel she was_.

74Not that he let something like this ever bother him.

75Even if that was mostly Crowley.

76Even if disorganising was more aptly put.

77Which wasn’t altogether untrue. Large masses of people always gave him a headache. So did having to perfect a fake smile that he had to keep on at all times and having to sit for the photographs, being moved around like a marionette because the light was better in this or that corner.

78As God properly intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, HolRose, you are a darling! <3
> 
> P.S. : The tech pixies have not been great. I have tried putting a picture in the first chapter in like 30 different ways and it did not stick. Apparently I have not managed to rid myself of all the Newt-ness, or any of it, judging by this particular exploit.


	17. ...on a wonderous night...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is smut. No other plot point. Just smut. ( 0 plot - totally skippable. CW: Top Aziraphale in this bit - for the people who do not prefer that)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will address all of the plot points later - just leave them be for the moment

**Tuesday, June 26th**

If pressed upon how it had happened at a future date Aziraphale would have told you that it all started out as a perfectly normal Tuesday evening in the bookshop.

It was just after midnight and they were well into the second bottle of wine.

Crowley occupied his usual space on the couch and he was speaking quite animatedly about possible wizarding orders and how it would be fun to have them all antagonise each other.

He had that extraordinarily sweet smile painted on his face that he sported when he thought he was being sneaky and mischievous but actually was imaginative and full of wonder instead.

Aziraphale looked at him from the corner of his eye, pretending to inspect the last draft that Crowley had brought him instead.

He looked utterly delectable, sprawled all over like he owned the place.

He had long ago given up on his shoes and Aziraphale observed how his toes curled around the edge of one of the pillows as he spoke.

He imagined Crowley’s toes curling due to different circumstances altogether.

He let his eyes wonder further up his long legs that seemed to stretch on forever and never be able to keep still as he tapped one of his knees incessantly on the backrest of the sofa and further still, roaming over his thin torso covered in that obscenely tight T-shirt that left almost nothing to the imagination the way it had ridden up, exposing quite a lot of skin. And hipbones. Aziraphale wanted to bite down into one of them.

He cursed the man’s predilection for low waisted jeans and it took him a while to take his eyes off that trail of hair just underneath his navel.

And then further still to his ever moving hands that waved about like there was no tomorrow.

He just could not keep himself still no matter how hard he tried. Not that he tried all that hard to begin with.

Aziraphale traced those long-fingered and elegant hands with his gaze as they were drawing seemingly random patterns in the air thinking what it would take to make them still. Thinking how he could pin Crowley’s arms down while Crowley would lean into the touch, arch his back against him, completely submit to the touch.

He gulped and moved his gaze upwards again landing on Crowley’s mane of red hair, spread over the pillow he was currently leaning against, his hair tie long forgotten.

Well, not forgotten as such. But Crowley did have the habit of untying his hair sometimes after the first bottle of wine was over and wrap his band around one wrist, occasionally playing with it, while other times he would bury his hands in his long locks and fluff them up ever so slightly, without even being aware of what he was doing.

Aziraphale often wondered what it would be like to bury his hands in Crowley’s hair. How soft it would feel around his fingers. What sounds would Crowley make if he tugged on it. Would he even like that?

So, all in all, a perfectly ordinary Tuesday. A Tuesday like any other.

And then Crowley lifted his head from the pillow and his sunglasses slipped ever so slightly, unmasking his glorious golden eyes that Aziraphale had only glanced at maybe four times at most.

They looked like… like… Aziraphale was at a loss of words. Gold? Honey? Sunlight? Perfection?

They were the most beautiful thing that Aziraphale had ever seen.

Each and every time that he had laid eyes on them he was utterly transfixed by the depth of emotion he could see there. It was as if Crowley was wearing his soul on his sleeve.

Right now they fixed him with a look that screamed of devotion and adoration and Aziraphale just lost it.

‘I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore,’ Aziraphale sighed and gently placed his wine glass down the table.

Crowley sobered up almost instantly and it was not because he had miraculous powers but because he realised what those words meant.

_This was it._

_This was definitely it._

The angel realised that he could do without his abysmal company and was shoo-ing him off.

He tried to get up from the couch as fast as possible and in his hurry his glasses slipped off his nose completely and onto the floor. He threw another panicked look around before bending over to retrieve them.

 _He needed them and he needed them now_. He was on the verge of crying as it was already.

Aziraphale was making his way towards him in that very distinct way of his that did nothing to make Crowley less emotional.

And then Aziraphale reached him.

He was all but climbing up a shelf right now, his back firmly pressed against quite a lot of Aziraphale’s books, sunglasses in one hand and wide gleaming eyes fixed on the angel’s expression.

Aziraphale was closer than he had ever been.

He could see the golden flakes in his otherwise ocean blue eyes and an expression he had noticed before on the angel’s face when he thought Crowley wasn’t watching. He didn’t know what that expression was but it was endearing.

_Well, everything about the man was endearing._

He wanted to lean in and….

 _Okay, scratch that_. There was no need for it to begin with, apparently, as Aziraphale grabbed his T-shirt and pulled him down.

And then proceeded to kiss him for the next minute or so.

 _Okay so_ …Crowley must have been run over by a lorry or some such as this was surely what the phrase “dying and going to heaven” meant, _right_?

It took him a while to reciprocate but when he did he had an armful of angel and he was guiding them both towards the couch. _Or where he believed the couch was_.

Amazingly, he was right in his assessments about space planning and the like. Which was weird since he felt like his whole brain was melting.

It was only when the back of Aziraphale’s knees knocked into the couch and that they were both falling down on it, his fall being the sweetest one he could ever possibly imagine, landing on Aziraphale’s impossibly soft chest that he put two and two together and started to figure out where this was going.

Aziraphale drew back for a second and looked at him a tad uncertain.

‘I didn’t mean to presume but -’

He was quickly silenced by another kiss. More fervent and desperate than the ones before.

_No._

There should be no room for doubt.

_Not now._

Crowley inched further down and started kissing Aziraphale’s neck and then his chest – through his dress shirt79 and started unbuttoning his waistcoat buttons at the same time.

The cardigan was swiftly discarded. As was the bowtie.

Then Aziraphale’s hands found their way downwards and started pulling at Crowley’s T-shirt in such a desperate manner that it suggested he wanted to rip it clean off.

Crowley relented and was soon sitting there, shirt-free while Aziraphale’s hands were trying to get acquainted with his bare torso and back like there was no tomorrow.

He didn’t mind it. He actually leaned into the touch.

And then the angel proceeded in biting his neck and collarbone properly and Crowley had to place the heel of his palm against his mouth so as not so seem completely wanton.

He knew he was failing in that respect and he knew that the angel was aware of it simply judging by the state of what was happening in his jeans alone.

And how desperately he was trying to get some friction going on.

‘Not here,’ he swore he heard the angel whisper in his ear.

And the next thing he knew there were hands on the back of his thighs, lifting him up as if he weighted nothing.

 _Oh, God. That was so bloody hot,_ he thought as he quickly draped his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders.

And then they were transported upstairs in a matter of less then a minute which was even hotter.

Being all but thrown on the bed reached new levels of hotness not previously known to his very busy brain.

It was busy because he tried to correlate the picture of prim and proper Aziraphale with someone who would just do THAT.

Not to mention start to unbuckle his belt and draw his jeans down.

And for sure not to mention bite on his hipbone like that in the process.

_Oh, good lordy Lord! What was happening?_

Aziraphale managed to rid him of his jeans completely which was a rare feat that even Crowley barely managed 3 times a week, the rest of the time sleeping in them.

He sure was determined, Crowley would give him that.

 _Who was he kidding?_ Crowley would give him everything.

For some reason Aziraphale was still dressed and he needed to remedy that situation. And quick.

He all but tore at the angel’s clothes.

And what he found underneath them was better than his wildest expectations.

The angel was perfection.

It took him a while to come back from the mental subspace that told him it was okay to disrobe Aziraphale like that. But the moment he did he started kissing each and every bit of skin he could get his mouth on.

Aziraphale was already touching him in places that no one else had touched him in for a long while.

_Oh._

He tried his hardest to supress the sounds and then shoved his knuckles into his mouth to do just that.

‘None of that, dearest,’ he heard Aziraphale next to his ear in between a nip and a kiss. ‘I want to hear you always. Want to commit your sweet sounds to memory.’

_Okay, so this was how he died. Fair enough. It was a good way to die. He could run with this._

And then Aziraphale grabbed his thighs and drew them to rest on either side of his hips and _please lord Almighty just strike him down then and there!_

The feeling of skin on skin was intoxicating. It was as if every nerve ending he ever had was a live wire and they were all set alight. _Ablaze? Something_. He needed more of that.

He cupped Aziraphale’s cheeks with both hands and kissed him silly while his legs found themselves on the back of Aziraphale’s, heels digging into those impossibly plump and perfect looking thighs.

He tried his best to manoeuvre both of them to one side and then he was straddling the angel and running his hands over his chest, wondering how anyone had any right to be so soft. His skin felt like silk under his fingers, perfect and unblemished and impossible to the touch. So he just did that for a while, trying to convince himself that this was real.

Underneath him Aziraphale was bathed in moonlight that fell through the tall window and he was the epitome of perfection.

He was smiling at him as if he was the best thing in all of existence and Crowley nearly spurted it out then and there.

‘Angel, I…’

_…love you._

‘Now, now, darling, come here.’

And therefore Crowley did because he couldn’t deny Aziraphale anything.

So he bowed down and kissed Aziraphale some more.

He was far too lost in the intoxicating scent and taste of the angel to realise what was happening until after it finally happened.

He tasted like chocolate and wine but he also tasted like honeysuckle and old books and lavender and… _was he projecting? Those were smells…weren’t they?_ It didn’t much matter.

The next thing he knew he was laying on his back on the mattress yet again and Aziraphale was holding both of his wrists down with one hand while the other was gently caressing him all over.

He squirmed towards the warm touch, leaning into it as much as possible.

‘Aziraphale, I…’

He was instantly silenced as the angel started to kiss his neck.

‘Oh, that’s…yeah…please, more of that…’

‘Oh, I plan to, darling. I want tonight to be entirely about you. I want you thoroughly taken care of.’

Crowley squirmed some more.

‘So please sit still and let me take care of you.’

‘I…’

_…I love you, angel. With all of my might. I love you so much it’s impossible to put into words. I think I’ll never be able to, honestly._

‘Yeah. Sure,’ was what he managed with a breathy sigh instead.

‘Good.’

Aziraphale then took both of Crowley’s hands and placed them on the back of his own head.

_What was happening? What was this?_

The angel gave him a quick smile and then started kissing down his chest and further downwards still.

_Oh shit, oh no._

‘No, angel, no, you needn’t do that!’

By this point Aziraphale was kissing his stomach below his navel.

‘Shush, darling.’

‘Mnghhh.’

That “darling” really did him in.

‘I told you, tonight is only about you.’

‘Yeah but, I mean…I can do that. For you, I mean. You don’t need to – _oh fuck me sideways_!’

‘I do intend to.’

‘Ffffffffffff…..’

The last exchange was uttered as Azirphale grabbed his thighs and guided Crowley’s by now unresponsive legs to place them atop his shoulders.

And then Crowley was completely and utterly lost to the world.

He realised he was arching his back and moaning unintelligible nonsense and he took one of his hands away from the angel’s curls even if the only thing he wanted to do was grab onto them and never let go, only to firmly place it over his mouth.

Aziraphale drew back and grabbed his hand with more force than actually necessary placing it back on his head.

‘I told you I want to hear you. I want to hear everything.’

He gave Crowley’s wrist a light squeeze and returned to the job at hand making Crowley thrash and turn in the sheets, crying out like had never ever done in his life.

The neighbours would probably lodge some noise complaints tomorrow.

He couldn’t give less of a shit.

He grabbed onto the angel’s curls and gave them a sharp tug. It wasn’t voluntary. A mere reaction to what was happening to him right now. But is still got him a guttural moan that reverberated around his cock and that in it of itself was too much to handle.

‘Angel I…’

_…love you. Adore you. Would die for you. You are the most precious thing in existence to me. You are everything. Take me and break me and cast me anew._

‘I think I….’

Aziraphale saw that fit as to completely still his hips by digging his fingers deep into them.

_God...that would bruise. God, please, let that bruise._

‘I think I…’

And then he felt stars explode behind his eyelids.

He had no idea what happened next as he raced after supernovas and witnessed galaxies explode into dust.

He felt everything and nothing at all.

He could pinpoint each and every inch of skin that was touching Aziraphale’s and at the same time he felt like he was floating in an immense void. He thought he heard a warm and soothing voice while also floating in the ether and hearing everything and nothing all at once.

_I love you, angel. I love you so much. I…I have no idea how to best express it._

He started to feel his limbs again bit by bit, his fingers and toes at the very beginning. Then the way the hairs had risen on his thighs. Then the fact that there was an unknown but not unwanted weight on his chest.

He breathed everything in without opening his eyes.

He could spend the rest of his lifetime like this.

_And what was it that made him give it up?_

Oh, right, it was Aziraphale kissing him.

He realised it at some point and started kissing back and tasting himself on the angel’s tongue.

He buried his hands in those platinum curls and deepened the kiss.

And then his hands decided to go on a path of their own and touched every inch of the angel available.

‘I…’

He needed to get it out. He did. But then Aziraphale cupped his bum and started to bite on one of his nipples and _ooooooh dear lord!_

‘Darling can I…?’

‘Whatever you wish for, angel. Anything.’

Aziraphale lifted his head and looked him in the eye for a long while.

‘Are you certain?’

‘I…’

_…I would give you the stars and the moon and everything in between please stop asking. I am yours body, heart and soul._

‘Yesss,’ he managed as he canted his hips up yet again so as to make his intentions clear.

‘Do you…um. Do you have any… you know?’

‘What?’

‘Any lube, angel, do you actually want me to spell it out?’

‘Oh. Oh! Yes. In the nightstand drawer.’

Crowley grabbed the lube himself after tracing Aziraphale’s gaze and placed it in the angel’s hand.

‘Angel…’

Aziraphale was taking his sweet time to cover his inner thighs with kisses.

‘Angel. Please!’.

He canted his head backward and tried to catch his breath. He had no idea how he was still so responsive only minutes after a mind-shattering orgasm but here they were and Aziraphale took things impossibly slow. But at least he was drawing nearer his intended destination, so there was that.

‘Yes. Please.’

He buried his fists in the sheets and groaned.

Aziraphale was doing his best to get him going on again. Or maybe he wasn’t and he was just getting there on his own, feeling the angel’s impossibly soft lips on him.

_Oh!_

He nearly jumped off the bed proper when he felt a finger breach him but he had a warm angel to wrap his arms around as he gasped and buried his face in the crook of the angel’s neck.

Aziraphale guided him with one hand to fully sit on his lap while the other was doing its best to light up every nerve ending in his body.

Crowley let his arms wrap as tightly as possible around the angel, one of them around his mid back while his palm was splayed in between his shoulder blades; the other wrapped around his shoulders, his fingers buried deep into those impossibly soft curls.

At some point he somehow managed to lift his forehead from the angel’s shoulder and he somehow got the missing brain cell to work for just enough to kiss Aziraphale hungrily while the angel was working him open.

By now all of his fingers were buried deep into those heavenly curls and he was probably making the most indecent sounds known to man with the added “another” every now and again up until he felt like he couldn’t wait any longer.

He had no idea how much time had passed but it seemed like an eternity and then some before he could even find the will and strength of mind to take his lips completely away from the angel, the taste of him still very much ingrained in his very soul.

‘Angel, I… ah!’ he tried, but failed, their temples slotted together while his lips were almost grazing Aziraphale’s cheek. ‘I need you to… _oh God_!’

‘Never pinned you for the religious sort, darling,’ Aziraphale managed at his bastardiest, but he was a bit out of breath himself and if this would have been any other moment in time Crowley would have hissed an angry reply at him. But it wasn’t. So he didn’t.

He instead climbed up in Aziraphale’s lap even more, so as to make his intentions crystal clear and, despite already feeling the loss of his fingers, he really needed to feel the angel and he needed to feel him now.

‘Angel, I need…’

‘I know, darling,’ Aziraphale murmured into his own long locks.

And then Aziraphale’s strong, sturdy hands were on his waist and his hips, guiding him as close as they could possibly be, chests touching, Crowley’s hands still in his hair while his own hands had a more specific direction in mind and nearly left purple marks in Crowley’s bony sides.

‘Ffffffffffffffffffffff,’ was all Crowley managed as his hands fell from Aziraphale’s curls to his back, digging his fingers into his shoulder blades as if he wanted to commit those indents to memory.

And there were now warm arms wrapped around him and guiding him down on the mattress as one of them cupped his bum and then moved downwards over the back of his thigh, guiding one of his legs to rest on the angel’s own back.

To be fair, he was all but putty by this point and whatever the angel decided to do to him he would do.

‘Darling, are you absolutely certain?’

‘Ye…yeah. I have never been so certain of anything in my life, angel, please!’

‘Anything, dearest. Everything. For you. Always,’ it was Aziraphale’s time to search for his mouth, his eyes closed and his hands looking for as much proximity as ever while he pushed his whole body ever slightly upwards to make sure that was the case.

Crowley felt like he had died and ascended to heaven.

‘Angel!’ he managed a breathy sigh.

_I have no words to express what I feel for you and I never will. You are the most pure and beautiful being in existence and I cannot believe my immense luck that you could want something like this with me._

His inner monologue was swiftly silenced as Aziraphale began to move and it gave way to a litany of the most obscene sounds Crowley had ever been capable of instead. He didn’t even think he could surpass his earlier performance and yet he did tenfold.

Aziraphale moved slowly and tentatively as if Crowley was a delicate porcelain doll and marked each thrust with a loving kiss and Crowley had no words to describe this.

He had fucked his fair share of people and some of those times it has even been “Good Sex”. But what was happening right now couldn’t be described as that. This felt as close to making love as he believed possible. Not that he had much experience in that respect.

His usual flings had been short and rough and the road to the particularly desired destination wasn’t important for any of the participants as long as they reached that destination.

And then Aziraphale lifted his head ever so slightly looking him straight in the eyes with a look that screamed pure adoration and Crowley wanted to break down sobbing.

The sex itself was incredibly soft and tender but the look on Aziraphale’s face was what did it for him.

He grabbed two handfuls of angelic arse cheeks and started moving his hips as well in tandem with whatever it was that Aziraphale was doing, forehead buried in between Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder.

And then the angel snaked his arms around him yet again in a tight embrace bringing them chest to chest as he picked up his movements and it was absolute perfection.

Crowley keened at the new angle and the fact that he was also getting quite a lot of friction going on in this new configuration, his cock trapped in between their bodies as the angel rocked into him with movements that had lost their fluidity quite a bit.

‘Angel, I…’

‘Yes. Me too. Just let go. Whenever you want.’

He placed a soft kiss against Crowley’s temple and Crowley sobbed in the crook of his neck as he came for the second time that night and also in a very long time. It had to be the best he’d felt in his life so it took him a couple of moments to realise that Aziraphale was drawing back.

‘Wha..? Wha’re you doing?’

‘I figured that you would be overly sensitive and -’

Crowley all but growled at him as he dug his fingers deeper into the soft flesh of his behind urging him forward yet again.

‘Aziraphale. I want you to fuck me senseless and to feel you come inside me and if you come up with any other wild ideas I swear I’m gonna be very cross.’

He had no idea how he managed such a long string of words judging by the absolutely ravished state he was in.

‘Cross?’

‘Very.’

‘We wouldn’t want that, would we?’

‘Nah. So, if you please?’

That was all the encouragement Aziraphale needed to grip his bony hips and start moving again, this time at a harsher and more erratic pace that made Crowley see stars. Aziraphale might have been right about the overly sensitive bit as he felt that after this he might never move his legs again. But it was such sweet torture, he surmised as he drank in the dazed look on the angel’s face, eyes full blown with want and lust and…something else entirely.

It didn’t take long for his grip to tighten around Crowley’s hips and for him to still completely, moaning into his lover’s red curls. Crowley had to commit that sweet sound to memory. That alone would fuel his wank bank for quite a while. _Not that he needed to do that now_ , he smiled as he realised that.

It took a while for Aziraphale’s breaths to come back to normal and his heart to stop feeling like it would explode out of his chest and when he came back to reality, two long spindly arms were wrapped around him and kisses peppered into his now slightly damp hair.

He realised he had completely collapsed on top of Crowley and he was probably squishing the breath out of him, but those hands tightened around him the minute he tried to get up.

‘Stay, angel. Just a little bit longer.’

‘I…. of course, darling. Whatever you need.’

‘I just need to feel you right now. Just a bit more.’

Aziraphale only hummed in response as one of his hands started toying with one of Crowley’s locks.

They probably spent the next ten minutes like that before Aziraphale did indeed finally get up despite Crowley’s protests and went to find something to clean them both up with.

He initially suggested a shower, but that was met with a chuckle and:

‘Sure thing angel, but I need someone to teach me how to walk again after that.’

‘Oh, shush, you,’ Aziraphale chided but no one would believe there was any bite in his remark, judging by the wide smile on his face.

Crowley mumbled something unintelligible and then rolled over on the bed, hogging both of the pillows and the blanket in a way that no other human could, Aziraphale noted.

He was already dozing off as he felt the angel’s hands on him again, cleaning him up with a wet towel that was quickly disposed of and replaced with the angel’s own hands drawing lazy patterns on his skin.

‘You’re divine, darling.’

‘So are you. Angel and all. Now let’s get some sleep.’

Aziraphale chuckled and stilled his hands so as to let Crowley properly rest. His eyes, however didn’t stop wandering up and down his body, making a note of every freckle, every beauty mark, every taught line of his abdomen. His long sinewy legs, how most of his ribs could be seen through that soft, porcelain skin. How his breathing became even and how his eyelashes fluttered, his face the perfect picture of bliss.

‘I love you, darling. So _so_ much,’ Aziraphale murmured as he drew the blanket around them, pressing his face on Crowley’s chest. But his lover had already fallen asleep.

79 He was absolutely baffled by the mere idea of being able to taste Aziraphale’s skin without any impediments in the not so distant future.


	18. ...on a blessed morning...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, my good people - have some more smut. The bois have earned it. (Can be completely skipped - there is no plot; CW: Top Aziraphale in this bit - for the people who do not prefer that)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry to have dragged you into all the filth, [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose). You do not deserve this.

**Wednesday, June 27th**

Crowley woke up next morning to feel completely at peace with life and the universe and everything. Sure, he felt a bit sore, but he treasured that feeling as he knew what led to it.

He felt better than he had ever felt in decades.

He looked down at the angel sprawled over his chest and he thought he won the lottery. Or died and gone to heaven or… or… he could not be bothered to put into words what he was feeling at the moment and even if he would have he probably couldn’t have come up with something terribly eloquent, anyway. He had no name for the general state of bliss and the butterflies doing acrobatics in his stomach right now.

Aziraphale mumbled something against his chest and huffed for a bit in the most adorable way possible as Crowley’s chest hair tickled his nose. He tried swatting it away, and, upon not being successful in his exploits, turned away altogether, laying on his back with an arm above his head and head turned towards Crowley. His lips were slightly parted and the look on his face screamed utter peace and Crowley wanted to do nothing but gaze upon the angel forever.

He was bathed in warm sunlight that lit half of his face and made his light curls all but shine and he was the embodiment of pure perfection. Crowley’s earlier thought on how adorable Aziraphale’s little huff had been turned into pure awe. He looked like something out of a Renaissance painting. Or maybe a Bernini with that ivory perfect skin.

Crowley probably spent an eternity and a half just gazing at him lovingly and trying his best not to reach out and touch him, for fear of waking him up.

But, sooner than he had hoped for, he came to the conclusion that something had to be done in regards to breakfast.

 _Breakfast, huh….what a foreign concept_. He didn’t remember ever eating breakfast once in the last ten years. That is to say if you didn’t consider re-heated take out at four in the afternoon breakfast.80

He tried his hardest to slip out of bed as quietly as possible so as not to wake the angel up. This only prompted Aziraphale to roll over yet again and bury his face in the pillow Crowley’s head had rested on and inhale deeply. A small smile appeared on his face and Crowley could not believe the softness of this all so he nearly fled the room for fear of his heart bursting.

He went to the kitchen to grab them some breakfast in bed and he loved every minute of it.

Nothing needlessly complicated, though, just some buttered toast with whatever jam he found in Aziraphale’s pantry. It was apricot apparently.

He fiddled with Aziraphale’s honestly very impressive coffee press81 and then set some water to boil, inspecting Aziraphale’s extensive tea collection and trying to figure out what would be the best option on this simply glorious morning. He settled over a nice Assam as he read the description on the label and though it to be the most pompous thing he had ever read. And he had read Tennyson.

Once everything was crowded on too-small-a-tray he made his way back upstairs, only now realising he was as naked as the day he was born.

He stopped humming whatever Queen song he was humming and snorted instead as soon as he arrived at that particular conclusion.

This apparently seemed to wake up Aziraphale from his slumber and a wide smile danced on his face at the sight in front of him.

‘Oh, darling, you shouldn’t have!’

“Darling” did quite a lot of things to his insides, such as train all of the butterflies who had rented the place to do an acrobatic flip.

‘Nonsense, angel. Now move your cherubic bum and scoot over.’

‘What is it?’ Aziraphale got up on one elbow trying to peek at the contents on the tray.

‘Not much. Just toast and jam. And an apparently a “to die for Assam”,’ Crowley grinned at him, toothily. ‘I would go as far as describing it as a “bold, po’erful black tea from thar Assam region 'o India. A deep, burgundy-red cup 'n roasted grain aroma, malty-rich flavour wit' notes 'o raisins. Pungent but smooth astringency, makin' this tea an ideal cup to pair wit' milk 'n sugar. This outstandin' Assam comes from a fav'rit garden 'o ours, Mangalam Estate.’

‘Did you just quote the label to me?’

‘Yaarr?’

‘And why in the name of everything holy are you talking like a pirate?’

‘Mneh. Felt appropriate. Since I caught such a bountiful bounty last night’

‘Oh, do come here you impossible creature.’

Crowley sauntered over making sure to use the best Walk™ in his repertoire, fact that did not go unnoticed at all as Aziraphale rolled his eyes lovingly at him despite his very obvious blush. But he did reward him with a chaste kiss on the lips and Crowley could not ask for more, if he were perfectly honest.

The tray in his hands made the angle a little awkward but no one paid it much mind.

‘Put it on the dresser, dear. We can’t start eating breakfast without some proper oral hygiene first.’

‘You’re kidding me right now?’ Crowley cocked an eyebrow at him but put the tray on the dresser, regardless.

Aziraphale got out of bed and took Crowley’s hand to guide them both to the bathroom.

Crowley stood awkwardly in the doorway for a second or so while Aziraphale was fiddling with something in the cabinet under the sink. The awkwardness of the whole situation was joined however by some appreciation of the angel’s absolutely perfect behind as he was bending over.

It took several snaps of fingers and something to be presented to him for Crowley to snap out of his reverie. It was a toothbrush. A bright new, still wrapped, toothbrush.

He stared at it for a while.

Then he took it tentatively and stared at it some more.

It took some prodding to his ribs for him to snap out of his second daze. _What was that? Oh, right. Toothpaste._ He took a hold of that and went through the motions not even cataloguing what he was doing.

After he was done with everything, he stared at the toothbrush some more prompting Aziraphale to take it out of his hand and place it in the small glass on the marble countertop right next to his own, bristles touching.

_Grown-arse men shouldn’t get so emotional about two damn toothbrushes just sitting there, side by side, should they?_

Crowley’s face split open in a wide smile at that and thankfully Aziraphale was well oblivious about it as he fretted about pulling some towels from a cupboard and placing them on the toilet lid while pointing at the shower.

‘I’ll give you privacy to -’

‘Join me.’

Crowley had already stepped into the shower nook and extended a long and elegant hand towards the angel. It did not take long for his hand to be taken and his knuckles to be kissed.

‘Don’t mind if I do, dearest,’ Aziraphale smiled at him and then stepped inside and curled his other hand against the nape of Crowley’s neck bringing his mouth down for a kiss that tasted ever so faintly of toothpaste but, more than anything, tasted of home and love and acceptance.

Crowley melted into it.

Hands started roaming each other’s bodies exploratorily but ever so gentle without any of the rush or the fervour from the previous night. One of them must have fiddled with the shower head because suddenly they were drizzled by a warm water spray, but honestly no one knew who it was, being too absorbed by each other to even notice.

They spent more than half an hour in the shower even if washing in it of itself was an afterthought. Or at least it was until Aziraphale started digging his fingers into Crowley’s hair and offered to wash it for him which was heavenly by itself, Crowley had always enjoyed people touching his hair, but now that the angel’s hands were the ones doing the touching82 it nearly short-circuited his system for the umpteenth time in the last twenty four hours. If this was how every day would be like he would be in real trouble.

After what felt like an eternity of soft shared kisses and fingers trailed as lightly as possible over arms and backs, they finally stepped out of the shower hand in hand.

Aziraphale put on a fluffy white robe that emphasized the pinkness of his warm and perfect skin and Crowley made due with the two towels that had been set aside for him, tying one of them around his head like a turban and the other one over his hips, low enough that both hipbones and a certain trail of red hair would be very obvious from his attire, like they hadn’t even been naked and touching each other only moments ago. And then winked playfully at Aziraphale who wanted to roll his eyes at him but kissed him some more instead.

‘I do believe I was promised breakfast in bed, dear.’

‘Oh shit, your tea must have gone cold by now. Here, let me go downstairs to -’

‘Nonsense,’ Aziraphale wrapped an arm around his waist as he tried to head towards the door and pulled him close, his nose buried in between Crowley’s shoulder blades, inhaling deeply.

‘No one leaves this room today, not if I can help it.’

‘Angel! Absolutely scandalous,’ Crowley gasped in faux shock and gave his hips a little wiggle that did not go unnoticed or underappreciated the way they were slotted together like that.

‘Oh shush, you fiend,’ Aziraphale placed a kiss on the nape of his neck and headed for bed, discarding the robe in the process. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

Crowley scrunched his eyebrows and pouted for a bit but, when he turned around, he could see Aziraphale sprawled on the bed, chin resting in his palm and one elbow supporting it.

‘Or did I?’

Crowley nearly choked on his tongue looking at the angel in front of him doing all but “come hither” signs.

‘Oh, you absolute minx,’ he managed before he basically threw himself on the bed where they ended up a mess of covers, limbs, towels and whatnot.

‘You shouldn’t be tempting me like that, angel,’ Crowley smirked and placed a kiss on the inside of Aziraphale’s wrist making him nearly melt into his arms.

‘Angel,’ he whispered as he trailed his lips upwards on his arm placing soft kisses every time he got the chance. ‘Could I return the favour? From last night?’

‘What do you…oh. Oh, darling, I really must protest, mmmmhhmm,’ Aziraphale managed a hand gripping tightly at Crowley’s shoulder as Crowley decided to take matters into his own hands, so to speak, for the time being.

Aziraphale’s hand flew to the headboard where he dug his fingers in the wood as hard as humanly possible.

His other hand jumped from Crowley’s shoulder to tug at the towel on his head without any preamble. It seemed like Aziraphale also liked to be able to touch his hair.

‘Yes, that’s good, angel. Guide me as you wish,’ Crowley said as he hummed a bit around the angel’s cock and then took his lips off it with a slightly pornographic wet sound. ‘Use me in whichever way you want.’

‘No,’ Aziraphale barely managed even if everything on his mind begged him to pull at that hair and consume Crowley altogether.

‘I will never…use you. We are equals in this and in everything else, yes?’

Crowley had lifted his head from Aziraphale’s hip and was resting his cheek on the inside of his knee that was propped up in the air, waiting for future instructions or commands.

Aziraphale could have none of that so he got up on his elbows motioning Crowley to come nearer.

And then they were inches apart once more, mouths sloshed together, chests touching, arms all around each other while they rutted against one another in a slow and languid fashion. They needed this to last as much as possible despite them both knowing that they could retrace their steps whenever they wanted.

Crowley’s mind was filled with love declarations while Aziraphale’s mind was filled with all of the practical aspects of them living together83. Sharing the same space. Eating breakfast in the morning and cooking together in the afternoon. Going to plays. To concerts. Dressing each other up. Going to sleep in the same bed and waking up one next to the other from now on. He thought of all of this and more as one of his hands was gripping the nape of Crowley’s neck and the other one was kneading one of his buttocks while his whole body moved out of his own accord up and down and slightly to the side.

Crowley was thinking about the best possible moment to tell the angel everything. In the middle of a mind shattering orgasm was always a good contender. So was after one. That was always good. But the angel deserved more than that. This had nothing to do with the sex. He loved him regardless. He wanted to spend his every waking hour looking at the angel. He wanted to watch him read and write and eat macaroons and… everything really.

 _He shouldn’t tell him now_ , his inner voice said as he was already very near the edge as it were. He should invite him for a romantic dinner. He should bring him roses _mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmhhhhhhhmmmm_ – but there was no way he would not be saying this after being driven to completion, he though, feeling the angel all but glued to him, chests and hands and cocks touching. _Oh God! This was heavenly!_

Crowley took a hold of one of Aziraphale’s hands and guided it slightly downwards, mewling into the touch as it brushed past one of his nipples and then down his stomach and his inner thigh.

‘Darling, I think you must be feeling sore from last night.’

‘Angel. I swear to someone that there will be fits thrown if you don’t fuck me right now.’

‘No need to be crass,’ Aziraphale chided but leaned over to grab the bottle of lube that had been thrown carelessly on the bed sometime during their last night’s exploits.

Crowley was yet again straddling the angel’s hips, fingers burrowed into soft blonde curls, moaning Aziraphale’s name, his chin atop his head as Aziraphale’s face was buried into his chest and his hands were digging into Crowley’s shoulder blades.

Everything was happening arduously slow for Crowley’s tastes but was still perfect in every possible way.

He could not picture his life as anything other than this for the rest of his days, he realised as he inhaled deeply the smell of Aziraphale’s soft hair while his own long and slightly damp curls hung around his cheeks, swaying back and forth.

Aziraphale was murmuring terms of endearment into his chest, his breath tickling Crowley’s skin and his words setting his nerves ablaze while his hands set some other parts of his body ablaze as well.

_This was too much. Far too much. Did other people ever get to experience this? Was this how it was supposed to feel?_

How was he almost 37 years old and this was the first time he ever felt something even remotely like this.

He was completely enamoured with the angel, head over heels. Completely done for.

Of course, he had realised that quite some time ago but to be treated so reverently, so lovingly, so….softly….

He didn’t know what to think about that.

There would be roses. Tons of them. And not the shoddy stuff that Iris let him pick for a quarter of the price because she would be throwing that stuff away anyway.

No. Top shelf roses. Bought the next morning.

He would wake up bright and early and go and buy the largest bouquet known to man.

_Gnnnnnghhhhhhhhhh!_

Or maybe not.

Not if he could not get his legs in check anyway.

And by the way this was going that was a very strong possibility.

‘I’ve wanted to do this ever since I first laid eyes on you,’ Aziraphale whispered and Crowley fought back an all-body shiver. ‘I don’t think you are aware of what you do to me, darling,’ Aziraphale continued and he was absolutely done for. ‘You are so beautiful. So perfect. You are the embodiment of everything good and kind and I can’t believe we get to have this. I can’t even tell you how much I wanted this.’

And what was he to say to something like that, honestly, other than lean into Aziraphale’s soft touch and keen into it. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would get them a reservation at the Ritz and plan his grand love confession. He had raised money for months now because he planned to take the angel there on his own birthday, not even a full week away, but that didn’t matter. Not anymore. And he couldn’t wait that long anyway.

Maybe not roses, maybe orange blossoms and of course one of the best tables he could book. They could go for lunch. _Was the Ritz awfully crowded for lunch on a Thursday? It shouldn’t be, right?_

His train of thought was lost on him as he felt Aziraphale’s hand in his hair, tugging just so, so any coherent possible thought turned into a loud moan instead as Aziraphale bit into his shoulder while pressing ever so slowly inside him.

How was this absolute perfection? How was this not only the best sex of his life but the best he had ever felt ever? It was surreal.

He wanted to lose himself in the smell of the angel and the obscene sounds he tried to quench by biting Crowley’s skin and in the way his body moved against him, all soft curves to compliment all of his hard edges. He was almost near lost to the world when something pulled him out of his haze.

It was a cheery little tune that after about three notes became the most annoying thing Crowley had heard to this day. He groaned against Aziraphale’s hair who sighed in response and fumbled with one hand on the nightstand to just silence the damn phone before the mood was completely ruined.

It fell on the floor at some point, but at least it was blessedly quiet for now.

Aziraphale captured Crowley’s mouth in a mind-shattering kiss and the phone was all but forgotten. Whoever could have been and whatever the hell they wanted it was of little import at this particular point, Crowley mewled into the kiss as Aziraphale grabbed both his arse cheeks and the shift in position made him see stars.

Apparently all of that urgency and the way he dug his nails into the angel’s back made Aziraphale moan into the kiss as well and then completely still in his arms with a breathy sigh.

But mere moments later Aziraphale’s exquisite hand was around his cock, also driving him to completion, and then and only then the angel collapsed on his back, breathing heavily. Crowley quickly followed, landing on top of his chest, his face inches away from the angel’s.

‘Well, that was something,’ Crowley managed to say sometimes later as he kissed Aziraphale’s temple.

He turned around so that the tips of their noses were almost touching, blue eyes meeting golden ones, and looked at Crowley with a soft and besotted expression that quickly turned into something else as the corner of his lip struggled not to full-on smirk.

‘You liked that, you wily thing?’

‘Wily, am I?’

‘Always.’

‘Well, you’re pretty wily yourself, angel. Tempting me like that. It should be illegal. You should serve proper time for it,’ he chuckled against the angel’s face and kissed him some more.

Aziraphale draped an arm across Crowley’s shoulders while his fingers were absentmindedly toying with one strand of his hair and Crowley thought this might be as good of a time as any to reach for the angel’s other hand and slot their fingers together.

Upon further thought he brought them both to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss on Aziraphale’s knuckles before settling with his forehead in the crook of the other man’s neck.

And then the landline downstairs started ringing.

80It’s for the best not to consider that.

81Especially for someone who didn’t even drink coffee.

82And what a reverent touch it was.

83Well, obviously not _just_ that...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun dun....
> 
> [The whole pirate thing was the brainchild of a couple of us messing around on the DIWS server one evening when all the descriptions of Adagio Teas were written in pirate-speak and I got dared into doing it because I, much like Crowley, do not possess any working braincells. The exchange ended with me going: Oh you don't think I will do it, will you? That is where you are mistaken, good sirs!]


	19. ...there was a little space in time, just for two...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just fluff following the two smut chapters - for the people who wanted to skip that, here's a quick summary: it was just the two of them being very soft together while Aziraphale took the lead (there are no dom/sub undertones - Aziraphale is just the one who is more confident in this fic). There are some mentions of them wanting to continue the whole thing in this chapter as well but they do not - or at least not for the reader to see.
> 
> P.S. - remember the story within the story. It's gonna come back and bite you in the arse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am posting this a day early since no one will stay and read my fic on Christmas Eve - so - here goes - early Christmas present! :D
> 
> Next chapter we will jump back in time and meet Anathema. Just so you know.  
> This shit ain't linear.
> 
> Thank you, HolRose, you are a peach!

**Wednesday, June 27th**

‘I’ll just go and disconnect that, shall I?’ Aziraphale huffed into Crowley’s hair and got a pair of thin but strong arms to coil tightly around him for his troubles, Crowley acting like a dead weight atop his chest, because he was feeling contrary84. Unfortunately for him, if his mind hadn’t been in a complete daze, he might have remembered from the previous night that Aziraphale had no issue manhandling him like he weighed no more than a twig. A really small, fragile-looking twig, at that. And despite him finding it hot as all the nine circles of hell put together the previous evening, he couldn’t help but grumble about the angel grabbing the back of his thighs and depositing him on one side of the bed while he got out of bed to sort the whole telephone debacle out.

‘You said no one leaves the bedroom for the day.’

‘Yes, well, in order to do that I have to put a sign in the window that we are closed today anyway so I need to go down at some point.’

‘You went down last night,’ Crowley offered with a smirk and was swatted lightly.

‘You fiend.’

‘You like it.’

‘I do. But, darling? Phone, yes?’

‘Okay, yeah, I guess. I’m not going anywhere. You will have to fight me tooth and nail to get me to ever leave this bed.’

‘Oh, you truly are a menace. Shush you,’ he tutted at Crowley and tied his robe around him.

‘Sure thing, angel.’

‘Good. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’

‘You are an impossible creature, you know that, right?’ Crowley laughed out loud into the pillow as Aziraphale leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek and was off, leaving Crowley’s stare to linger on that more than perfect behind.

Okay so roses and possibly orange blossoms and lunching at the Ritz it was, he thought as he stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom to clean himself up and then picked Aziraphale’s shirt off the floor and draped it over his shoulders, only buttoning all of three buttons and trying to get his hair to cooperate and sit into a classy bun.

He did not manage to do that. _Eh, to hell with it._ Well-fucked-bun was what was on the menu today, apparently. Not like that wasn’t completely true, he smiled to himself as he darted into the bathroom yet again and inspected the purple marks on the side of his neck, his collarbones and drifting down his chest in the mirror.

He had to make sure he would wear the V-neckiest V-neck shirt he had and show those off like a badge of honour. Or maybe he should look up their dress code first. He did not want to disappoint Aziraphale like that by not being allowed inside.

Okay, sure, he’d do that later, he decided as he cleaned up and headed back to the bedroom only to be met with the sight of Aziraphale standing in the doorway, looking at him like he had hung the stars. He had not. _Just knew a ton of shit about them, that’s all._

The once-over that Aziraphale was treating him to with half-lidded eyes did funny things to his insides but he was not eighteen anymore and he felt like he would discorporate if they went at it again. _For the moment, at least._

‘Angel, you need to stop looking at me like that. We ain’t teenagers anymore. Let’s get you your breakfast, yes?’

He had to confess that seeing Aziraphale like that in just a robe and with that insatiable look on his face slightly fucked up with his mind but they needed to take a breather for the time being. _They had all the time in the world, right?_

So he took the tray and placed in on the middle of the bed, waiting for Aziraphale to sit down before plopping his head in the angel’s lap and looking at him as if he were… _well_ , an angel.

Aziraphale threw him side glances as well and… _was that a blush he saw? And was that blush reaching his chest by now?_

This shouldn’t happen, by all means. Aziraphale had been basically balls-deep in him just ten minutes ago and now he looked like a Victorian damsel. No no. _None of that at the moment_.

He got up on an elbow and tried to feed him a piece of toast but the crumbs that got every-where coupled with the looks Aziraphale was giving him were rather deciding factors for why he should stop doing that.

So Aziraphale ate his toast in silence85and even Crowley bit a corner off a slice and then rested his head on Aziraphale’s plush thigh some more.

In all of his wriggling and “getting himself comfortable” he had managed to untie the angel’s bathrobe and his cheek was now resting directly on his skin. He tried to fight back a shiver at the intoxicating feeling of being able to touch Aziraphale’s skin and the almost electric surge he felt in his fingertips as they started exploring more of that glorious flesh, palm splayed on Aziraphale’s stomach and then travelling upwards to his chest.

Aziraphale placed his own hand on top of it, stilling it completely.

‘Didn’t you say we’re not teenagers anymore, darling?’

Crowley still didn’t know what to do with the “darling”. _Marry it, probably._

‘I’m not doing anything untoward,’ he chanced back and then smirked at the angel in that cheeky fashion that he knew got Aziraphale all huffy. Except this time it didn’t. He just looked at him with a warm smile and gently squeezed his hand.

‘All you do is untoward, whether you like it all not. Like you told me all of those months ago and what a fool I was not to believe you at the time: everything about you is improper.’

Crowley chuckled and wiggled his hips suggestively.

‘You are rather making my point for me, dearest.’

‘Well, we have all day, anyway. Who was the impertinent sod that dared to call the shop during business hours?’

This earned him a gentle nudge but even Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile at that.

‘I couldn’t possibly know. I told you that the shop is closed today so it wasn’t business hours, not really. And I didn’t want to answer and get distracted by God knows what boorish bloke who wants to rid me of any of my first editions. I simply disconnected it from the wall.’

‘You _what_?’

‘Oh, no need to act so shocked. Turned my mobile device on silent, too. I want nothing to distract me today.’

Crowley was on the verge on starting a rant about how no one other than people in technical videos called phones “mobile devices” but decided against it.

After all, this was part of the angel’s charm. Part of what made Aziraphale Aziraphale. His technological ineptitude that was borderline “cute”86. His horrible fashion sense, with clothes that wouldn’t have looked even remotely decent on anyone else, but on him they looked absolutely perfect. Felt perfect too, he caressed the shirt he was clad in with the hand that was not currently resting over Aziraphale’s heart. It smelled heavenly and felt impossibly soft. Like the angel himself. Like being hugged by warm angel wings. His complete bastard streak that despite him being the kindest person Crowley had ever had the pleasure to meet could be observed on a daily basis if you knew what to look for. He remembered the look that Aziraphale had levelled his butler with that had got the man to shut up instantly. He also cherished all of the little tricks that he came up with to dissuade any customers from buying anything and the haughty tone of voice he opted for when things like “the till is broken”, “the book is already spoken for”, “we don’t accept credit cards” and “how did that get there, oh no, no, that simply wouldn’t do, that is part of my personal collection” didn’t seem to work. He loved how he enjoyed his fair share of gossip. How he rolled his eyes whenever Book Girl would mention anything occult and all of his little snide comments regarding the power of healing crystals. How he asked seemingly innocent questions about the afterlife whenever Trace did any of her seances that seemed to throw her patrons off in the attempt to come up with a pertinent answer and the genuinely interested and open look he had on his face as he waited for them to stammer and come up with anything. He knew what he was doing, the absolutely impossible man. He loved how he pretended not to hear his phone when he was not in the mood to answer, quoting his own technical ineptitude, although they both knew he knew far more than he was letting on.

But he also loved how he would let students read for hours without pointing out that this was not a public library. He even made them tea sometimes and inquired about their essays so as to better help them and brought them the perfect books for the job. He was involved in several charities. He suggested books and encouraged the old ladies in the neighbourhood to have their own little book club, even joining them whenever he could. He kept paying for the full staff of Eden Manor despite not even living there because “what are the poor darlings to do, otherwise”. He loved how he tipped more than what his order was worth at the café across the street because “Jenny has a little one on the way” and “Alan is struggling with both his classes and his job” and “if people who can actually afford to do that don’t then who will”. He loved how he had befriended and helped Trace out despite her very complicated and steamy past that most of the people with his background would have sneered at. How he never seemed to want to get rid of anything if it was still “working”, his laptop that even the Corinthians would have said was a little dated being a prime example. His brick phone was another. “Well, it doesn’t do to be wasteful. And the way I understand it they use some rare metals inside that will run out if we keep buying new ones every ten years or so”. Crowley had wanted to correct him and tell him that it was probably every two years, but that would have just made the angel sad. At some point he found out from Book Girl that he had spent two of his weekends going to a couple of orphanages reading to them and even gifting the children some of his precious books. When pressed about it, Aziraphale had replied with: “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, dear boy”.

And that, of course was if he didn’t mention how brilliant Aziraphale was. How he always managed to bring a smile to his face. How genuinely interested he seemed in Crowley’s opinions. How his eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled. How his whole face lit up, too. How impossibly soft those hands of his were. But also so incomprehensively strong when they needed to be. How soft his curls had felt under his fingers. Almost like digging his hands into a cloud. The pink cheeks, the bashful gazes, the impossibly blue eyes that were speckled with gold when he looked at them from up close. And hadn’t he gone and done that? _So…. So close._

Then of course last night had happened and Crowley was still on cloud number nine, thinking about how it had exceeded even his wildest dreams. And to think that hearing Aziraphale eat was what he thought was going to be his undoing. Well, nothing had prepared him for the dam split in half, letting every emotion fall with the power of a mighty waterfall as soon as he heard his name in a breathy whisper on the angel’s lips. _And oh, Satan help him, those lips…_

He felt a warm palm cupping his cheek and realised that Aziraphale had said something while his own two remaining braincells had started waxing poetic about the pure wonder that the angel was.

‘Hmm?’

‘I said that you have extraordinarily expressive eyes, darling,’ Aziraphale repeated with a smile.

Crowley froze.

_Oh, shit._

He had discarded the sunglasses the last evening and they were nowhere to be found.

Instinctively he lifted his hand to his temple although he knew for sure they weren’t there.

His hand was swiftly cupped by Aziraphale’s own and brought to the angel’s lips. He placed a kiss to the inside of his palm and then let both of their hands rest on his cheek and then slide down on his neck.

‘I could close the drapes?’

‘Wut?’

‘Your light sensitivity?’

‘Ah. That. Nah…’

‘Well good, because I rather like looking at them.’

Crowley managed a string of consonants and then tried looking at anything but the angel’s face. His lap was a strong contender.

Aziraphale nuzzled his face into his palm and sighed happily.

‘Not that I think any part of you is less than perfect.’

This made Crowley’s eyes snap upwards yet again.

‘You’re beautiful, darling,’ Aziraphale said in no more than a whisper, letting Crowley’s hand drop and starting to card his fingers in the man’s hair. ‘You have no idea how beautiful you are.’

Crowley tried to come up with an intelligent reply and managed anything but that.

He was looking transfixed at the angel above him with his soft curves and… and skin and… hair and his more than perfect eyes and could not believe his luck.

And then they decided to spend the day in bed, as one does on a regular Wednesday, completely out of the blue. The tray was discarded somewhere to the side of the bed and they spent the rest of the day doing nothing but tracing intricate patterns over each other’s skin and exchanging languid kisses.

At some point Aziraphale remarked upon Crowley’s many freckles. That made Crowley blush.

At some other point Crowley wandered downstairs to pick up his phone and order them some curry because Aziraphale would surely be famished by now as it was nearly dusk. That made Aziraphale pull him down into a soft kiss that very soon turned into a passionate snog.

‘I wanted to take you somewhere special for my birthday, angel,’ Crowley said half an hour later, mouth half full, as he tried to inhale as much air as possible because, after Aziraphale had warned him about how spicy the restaurant down the street got, Crowley had insisted he would get their spiciest Phaal Curry because that was who he was a as a person.

‘Oh, dearest, I also prepared you quite the surprise, to be honest. I do hope our plans don’t clash.’

‘Nah, ‘s alright,’ he tried inhaling some more, tears in his eyes by this point, but it was not like he would ever admit that he was wrong so he soldiered on, eyeing the glass of water on the nightstand with a wistful expression. ‘I actually thought that we could go tomorrow. If you want, that is.’

‘I have no idea what you have in mind but I am sure it is going to be splendid,’ Aziraphale leaned in and kissed him after placing his own take-away box down on the floor. ‘Oh my, that sure is spicy,’ he commented as a complete aside and if Crowley wouldn’t have known him any better he would have found the remark quite innocent. But, since he did know him, he couldn’t help but notice the glint in his eye and the straight face he tried to pull while he downed the whole glass of water.

‘’S fine,’ Crowley nearly croaked and chugged another mouthful just to prove a point.

Aziraphale tutted at him and left the room returning with a glass of cold milk that Crowley pretended to ignore until the raised eyebrow on the angel’s face proved to be too much so he also downed the whole thing in one gulp.

‘You are unbelievable, you are,’ Aziraphale chuckled at him so Crowley decided this was as good a moment as any to put everything on the nightstand and almost jump in Aziraphale’s lap, giving him his most prize-winning smile.

‘You like it, there’s no use in denying it.’

‘I do.’

They sat like that for a while, Crowley trying to rid Aziraphale of his bathrobe completely while Aziraphale caressed his back through the shirt, making no attempt to take it off.

‘I also like you seeing in my clothes. Even if now I’m to understand that you want us both out of them?’

‘Mhm.’

‘Maybe we could soak for a bit together? There’s lots of time for whatever is on your mind later.’

‘Whatever you wish for, angel. Told ya.’

‘Well good then. It will only be a jiffy.’

Crowley eyed his half-eaten curry some more while Aziraphale went and fiddled with the bathtub but decided against it, for once the wise part of his brain being in charge with decision-making.

When he wandered inside the bathroom, he made a big show out of unbuttoning the light blue dress shirt but got swatted over the hand by Aziraphale who pointed at the half full bathtub that already smelled of lavender, so he gave up on his striptease number and got inside the tub without further ado.

Aziraphale quickly followed and Crowley basked in the feeling of skin on skin as if the last day and evening had never happened. He gathered his arms around Aziraphale’s middle and placed his chin on the angel’s shoulder as his shoulders sagged in relief and Aziraphale all but melted against his chest.

At some point he started toying with his hair absentmindedly while also kissing the side of his neck and underside of his jaw.

‘I sent my final draft last week,’ Aziraphale finally said as he sank even further into Crowley’s embrace and rested his forehead on Crowley’s jaw. ‘They should leave me alone for a while now. I think I’ll have at least a two months break. And I plan on spending it all with you.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind. And I’ll hold you up to it, too.’

‘Wouldn’t expect anything else, darling.’

‘I think I also have all of the stories finished, so you could tell those publishing friends of yours that this is basically it. Enough…as you put it – dilly-dallying.’

If Crowley would have been the suspicious sort he would have thought he felt Aziraphale squirm a little against him, but since he was flying high on cloud number fucking nine it barely registered at the back of his mind.

‘What, all of them?’

‘You’ve read the lot of them, angel.’

‘But what about the long one with the -’

‘Witch and wizard? I think I finally have an ending for it. You served as an inspiration for that.’

‘I did?’ Aziraphale turned back into the embrace and looked Crowley in the eye with a confused expression on his face. ‘Is it…is it a happy ending?’

‘Whaddya think, angel?’ Crowley smiled widely and kissed the tip of the angel’s nose. ‘Of course it's a happy ending.’

‘You just had so many difficulties with that. And you always said that the odds were stacked against them from the start so I just -’

‘Imagine,’ Crowley interrupted him by waving a hand about and splashing water everywhere, getting Aziraphale to chuckle and try to grab said hand. ‘Imagine that some things changed for our two main protagonists in the last twenty-four hours.’

Aziraphale only chuckled some more.

‘I am listening, you fiend.’

‘Fiend, eh? Fine. You get a pass this time. Last time, though. So. War in Heavens. The God of Death is gathering subjects. He made quite a lot of promises to our little group of misfits. Last time we’ve seen them they’ve both been offered quite the deal.’

‘Crowley, darling?’

‘Mhm?’

‘Stop pulling my leg. He’s been offered complete knowledge about everything in the world and she’s been offered eternal life and beauty. I know. So what do they do?’

‘Well, last thing I wrote was that she chose the eternal youth instead of their love– as one does.’

Aziraphale nodded sagely while dragging his fingers in complicated patterns on Crowley’s forearm.

‘But – and bear with me here – what if she doesn’t?’

‘I am shocked. Truly. Does the power of love save the day?’ the angel faux-gasped.

‘Don’t be a knob, angel. I could swear that your halo dimmed slightly from that remark alone. Oi! Stop prodding! Anyway. Yeah. She hears him telling one of the others how he would sacrifice everything for her and she gives up on the whole being a Victoria’s Secret model forever and ever and chooses the poor scrawny bastard instead.’

‘A what?’

‘Anyway. Here they are, woop, God of Death properly deceived by their little group as they all decide to take him up on his deals and then just properly fuck him up good and proper at the end. Things, or in this case, supernatural entities, only have power if you believe they have power and they absolutely do not at this point. How’s that for an ending?’

‘And do they live happily ever after?’

‘Duh? That’s the whole point, no?’

‘You are such an incurable romantic, aren’t you?’

‘I did tell you there’s no need to be a kno-’ Crowley started but was soon silenced by Aziraphale kissing him passionately.

The next thing he knew he was led out of the bathtub and softly dried with a towel and then led towards the bedroom proper.

‘I can show you how much of an incurable romantic I can be, I’ll have you know,’ Crowley got to whisper in the angel’s ear before they both melted into the mattress, as all thoughts about books or stories or the outside world were lost to them.

Too bad no one noticed the thirty-seven missed calls on the “mobile contraption” that rested on the carpet.

84Crowley feeling contrary about stuff was one of those undeniable truths about the Universe. Sky was blue, the fourteenth century sucked, the Bentley was the best car to ever car and Crowley acted contrary to everyone and everyone’s gran in general terms. But now in particular he had a very strong reason to do so, he reasoned, as it meant that Aziraphale had to leave the bed and go ALL the way downstairs to answer whoever had the audacity to ring the landline. It’s the 21st century, people, have you ever heard of texting? That particular criticism did in no way apply to Aziraphale’s use of one, but the irony of that was completely lost on him.

85Or, as silently as Aziraphale could eat anything.

86Not that Crowley would be caught dead calling anything or anyone “cute”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I keep foreshadowing the ANGSTE but 'tis Christmas so this is gonna be a happy chapter.


	20. ...there was a powerful enchantress...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anathema pays a visit... or several.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose), as ever

** April **

‘Hey, hun, you in?’ Crowley could hear from the entrance.

Aziraphale placed his palms on the desk, leaving the keyboard be for the time being, closed his eyes and sighed. Crowley could swear he could hear him mutter “couldn’t be helped, I guess”.

‘Brought you your book back?’ was furthered offered from the front of the shop.

Aziraphale sighed some more and got up from his desk.

‘I thought I locked the shop up,’ Aziraphale said just loud enough for whoever was up front to hear him.

‘Might just turn it into a library, by this point,’ Crowley chuckled but Aziraphale seemed like he he was giving it serious thought.

‘Now there’s an idea…’

‘Well, I got the key from Tracy. I thought you’d probably miss this book something terrible… _oh_. Hello there.’

Crowley turned around to see a lady in her mid-twenties that, same as Aziraphale, seemed to have come out straight from a Victorian novel. Judging by the way she was dressed, at least. Unlike Aziraphale though, she made her sartorial choices almost look chic and rocked the hell out of her laced up boots and long billowy skirt. As for that lace chemise – Crowley actually wanted to ask her where she got it from. Also, unlike Aziraphale her colour palette veered towards darker colours. Crowley very much approved while at the same time pondering if all of Aziraphale’s friends were this odd. Of which he also approved.

‘Hi,’ he said without making any move to get up from the couch.

He had been putting the final touches on one of the short stories, got bored and picked up Aziraphale’s half finished manuscript and started making helpful suggestions as Aziraphale worked on the latter half on his ancient computer. Got bored of that too at some point and then started doodling ducks on the margins. It wasn’t as if he had much intervening to do. Aziraphale’s writing was superb. And he really managed to convey the whole shit show that the War of the Roses had been through the characters’ eyes beautifully. The fear, the uncertainty, the way they had no idea what would happen to them as the power shifted. It was truly a work of art so he had no idea why Aziraphale made him read it and re-read it time and time again and fretted over it like a mother hen. It probably had something to do with that wanker of a cousin of his. But for some reason Aziraphale apparently gave a shit about his opinions. At some point he started biting the end of his pencil and then decided to give one of the ducks little horns. He was just putting the finishing touches on the second duck’s bowtie as this lady showed up with her book and key to the shop, apparently. _Aziraphale had to stop giving out keys left and right_ , he was far too trusting for his own good.

‘Anathema,’ book girl extended a hand which he took and shook, and damn him if that wasn’t a very firm handshake. ‘Anathema Device.’

‘I’m Crowley.’

‘Oh, I _know_ ,’ she said and smirked at Aziraphale who cleared his throat and tried inspecting a corner of the carpet instead. ‘Tracy just couldn’t stop talking about you.’

‘Only bad things, I hope.’

Book girl laughed in earnest and took the spot next to him on the couch as if they had known each other from times immemorial. Aziraphale threw her a look but didn’t comment any further, his host instincts kicking in as he offered her a cup of tea. She declined the offer and opted for a glass of whisky instead. _Ah, someone after Crowley’s own heart_. What did she say her weird name was? Ana something. _Eh, Book girl it was_. Crowley wasn’t one to be bothered to remember people’s names.

‘Angel, could I bother you for one of those as well?’ he asked and instantly cursed himself as he saw the wide Cheshire cat smile that appeared on her face. He really needed to stop it with the angel bullshit. Not that he saw himself actually doing that in the near future.

‘Of course, dear boy.’

Now, for whatever reason, this Ana-person was watching Aziraphale with the same wide smile and Aziraphale was avoiding her glance. _Huh. Weird._

‘So what is it you do, Crowley?’ she inquired politely or what politely would have been if it didn’t feel just like she was pressing a bit.

‘Oh, this and that, you know how it is.’

He could swear he saw Aziraphale frown and tried to figure out why. _Ah, right_. He had always avoided that question when Aziraphale was concerned because there was no way he could imagine that Aziraphale would want to spend his time with someone who worked the till part-time at a shithole of a diner. He had just told him he was working for Bea and left it at that. Going even further in that regard he had always avoided talking about where he lived and Aziraphale had the good grace to let that be. They spent their time together in the bookshop and in parks and lately in cafes as Crowley was now earning an honest buck thanks to that godsent Iris. It was enough, for now.

Anathema didn’t seem impressed and opened her mouth to ask something else but was quickly silenced by Aziraphale – fact which earned the angel Crowley’s most grateful smile he could come up with yet.

‘So, this book you were going on about?’

‘Oh yeah, here goes,’ she said and slid it over on the coffee table eyes never leaving Crowley.

‘Oh dear, I think this is one of yours, not one of mine. Oh!’ his eyebrows nearly reached his hairline as he noticed the title.

‘Must have been mistaken then,’ she smirked at Crowley and still held his gaze as she placed a palm on the cover of the book. ‘I could just take it back, no probs.’

Crowley could plainly see this for what it was which was Aziraphale’s friends playing silly buggers much like Trace had done.

He smiled back widely at her, as toothily as possible.

‘Oh dear, nono. I was mistaken. Definitely one of mine.’

Crowley could have stayed and played the game for longer, he really could but he noticed the angel’s cocoa cup was now empty so he went to the kitchen to make him a new one.

\---

After Crowley had sauntered over to the kitchen, Anathema got up and smacked Aziraphale’s shoulder.

‘The hell, Az! He is hot as fuck!’

Aziraphale just sank down lower in his armchair placing a hand over his eyes.

‘And you think I don’t know?’

‘Is this why you didn’t want to tell me anything?’

‘Could be.’

‘Well, shame on you. Also ask the man out. He looks at you like you’re responsible for creation itself.’

‘I’m sure you must be exaggerating.’

‘I most certainly am not. Oh! Let me do a Tarot reading for him. I am quite certain The Lovers is going to be the Future card. I can feel it, it’s so fucking obvious.’

‘You will do no such thing! And the nerve on you, too, tempting me with books of prophecy.’

‘What can I say? I knew you’d never say no to that. And it’s not like I haven’t transcribed all of it a long time ago.’

‘Book girl?’ she could hear from the kitchen. ‘What’s your poison?’

‘I’ll just stick to the Macallan if it’s all the same to you,’ she called back.

‘Lady after my own heart. Be back in two.’

‘I really like him,’ Anathema offered with a grin.

‘Me too. That’s the problem.’

‘Or is it?’

‘You are a horrible horrible person.’

‘And you love every minute of it, “angel”,’ she giggled.

Aziraphale groaned.

** May **

‘Why’s the Bentley still here? Did you start taking driving lessons?’

‘I never!’

Crowley couldn’t help but start laughing out loud at how offended Aziraphale sounded about learning a basic adult skill.

‘Oh, did Davies bring it then?’

‘No, in fact I -’

‘I’m driving it, actually,’ Crowley offered from the pillow fort that he was hiding in, only lifting a hand to point down at himself as if it wasn’t clear enough already who he was talking about.

Anathema lifted an eyebrow at Aziraphale from where she was perched atop the desk.

They had taken to doing this constantly, apparently Crowley not only not minding her presence but finding her “a cheeky enough fucker to be worth knowing”87.

And Anathema for her part found Crowley “an absolute menace but with a very interesting aura – and have you seen those hips”88. 

So every now and again she’d spend the evening with them in a state of drunken debauchery, or what drunken debauchery would have been if you considered it to be endlessly debating: the power of healing crystals (Crowley and Anathema) even if Aziraphale suspected Crowley was doing this to win her over when in actuality he was doing it to use it in his story; medieval herbs used for healing (Aziraphale and Anathema), once again, for book writing purposes; and what a bunch of wankers Aziraphale’s whole family was (Crowley and Anathema again) for no other purpose than the fact that it got a rise out of Aziraphale and they both liked teasing him89.

There had been countless occasions when Anathema had bypassed Aziraphale completely and had asked Crowley directly about giving him a reading and had been politely declined. That is to say, more often than not the precise words had been “yeah, no, don’t believe in that sorta crap, no offense”. It was rather difficult to offend Anathema, Crowley had realised. Even after calling her a witch once or twice with a particular bite to his tone. That might have been because Aziraphale quickly offered: “oh, Crowley’s story is about a witch, you know, dear girl? She is such an amazing character!” to which Anathema smiled one of those mysterious smiles of hers and Crowley grumbled something and that was that.

There had also been occasions when Anathema had point blank tried to steal Crowley’s manuscript only to be met with some particularly colourful expressions from the redhead and a frown and a very stern shake of his head from Aziraphale.

‘You’ll get it when you’ll get it, book girl. Will have to pay a good buck for it too. You know Aziraphale’s spoken with those arseholes cousins of his at Empyrean and’s gonna get me published,’ Crowley offered at some point.

‘Has he now?’ Anathema crossed her arms over her chest and threw Aziraphale a Look which was met with a tight-lipped smile and an averted gaze.

Anathema continued to look at him for a full minute before she realised that no other reply was forthcoming so she picked up her whisky tumbler and decided to talk about something else.

Aziraphale was making notes on Crowley’s manuscript and Crowley was drawing rather unflattering caricatures of Gabriel on the edges of Aziraphale’s and they were both being rather boring this particular evening. _Old married couple vibes_ , Anathema pondered as she poured herself another glass.

She could be out and about since it was a Saturday night but she found all of that heiress socialite crap very dispiriting. Especially since most of the people who actually started talking to her usually wanted something or other. Of course the money was a very powerful incentive for people to speak to her but in those particular circles that she was supposed to mingle in, most of them still looked down on her for being American and not having ten titles to her name.

She had tried clubbing too a couple of times when she was younger once she first arrived in London for her PhD but the mingling of so many different auras had given her headaches that had lasted for days. So that was out too.

Instead she had befriended a middle aged shop keep and his very colourful90 housekeeper. She had found out about Aziraphale’s title and piles of cash at some point and that had been a blessing in disguise as she saw that reason enough to drag him along to whatever soirees she had to attend because, despite her loathing them, she was not stupid and she didn’t want to live off her family’s money forever without making some investments of her own and she knew that socialising was the best way to achieve that. But if felt good to have someone on her arm in case she was presented to a string of “eligible bachelors”91. Especially since that someone’s name had a certain traction.

She much preferred spending her evenings in the bookshop with a good bottle of whisky talking about nothing much.

‘How’s your book going then, hun?’ she asked instead, seeing as Crowley’s story was a tricky subject.

‘Oh, I think I’m a couple of chapters away from finishing it.’

‘And dear old Gabe didn’t put those hounds on your back again and have you rewrite half of it?’

‘Hounds?’ Crowley inquired.

‘The editors. Uriel and Sandalphon. They can be quite opinionated.’

‘Sod them,’ could be heard from in between the cushions.

‘Well, no actually,’ Aziraphale didn’t deem fit to answer that particular bit but he did roll her eyes. He turned to Anathema instead. ‘As soon as I mentioned it being “Game of Thrones-ey” he completely let me be. I’ll just send them the final draft when I’m done. I think it’s gonna be a month or so but I can’t be certain. And of course I need Crowley to read it first.’

‘Whatever would you do without me, angel,’ Crowley supplied, quite drunk himself and, by this point, completely unrepentant about his use of “angel” every other sentence.

‘Whatever, indeed,’ Aziraphale commented with a fond look on his face.

Anathema rolled her eyes.

** June **

‘Oh come on, hun! Let me do a reading. I did one just last week and I can promise you the Lovers card is in both of your futures.’

‘That is such nonsense, Anathema.’

‘If it’s such nonsense what are you scared of then? What could possibly happen?’

‘I just don’t believe in things like that. And I would appreciate if you didn’t bother Crowley with it either.’

She mumbled something and threw herself on the couch.

‘Oh, did I tell you that I finally submitted the draft? I can sit back and relax now.’

‘And solve the Crowley problem?’

‘Oh?’

‘Don’t you “oh” me, mister. Just tell him.’

‘Well, it’s his birthday in less then two weeks and he still hasn’t finished the long story and -’

‘And you are looking for excuses.’

He huffed a complaint but he knew that she was right.

‘I do understand the need for things to be a surprise, I do. I love a good surprise, me. But my gut tells me you should tell him.’

‘And while I do appreciate the wisdom of your very respectable gut -’

‘The cards too.’

‘Again with the cards? I told you my dear, you are wonderful, but I really don’t believe in such nonsense.’

Anathema sprang up from the couch and started wandering about looking at the bookshelves and occasionally touching a book spine or other, lacking anything other to do.

‘I just have a… you know what? Yeah. Forget it. I made sure that I did my bit. And I am sure that it’s going to be quite a memorable birthday.’

‘Oh, I certainly hope so! I still can’t believe you managed to reserve the whole observatory for the night. That must have taken more than a couple of phone calls.’

‘Yeah. Unfortunately. Couple of nights of mingling. You owe me big time, mister. I had to wear stilettos,’ she complained as if it was the worst possible thing she could think of. ‘And had to entertain Lord What’s his face’s wife. And worse – his son. Leery little prick. And I mean that in both senses of the word.’

‘I gathered,’ Aziraphale said as he adjusted his waistcoat but it was clear to anyone that he was supressing a smirk.

‘You have the perfect plan for the evening. You might even say those three little words that make your aura all bright and gold.’

Aziraphale had no intention of addressing the aura comment but he did know exactly what she was talking about. He was certain that it was easy enough to read how he felt about Crowley on his face and not in the hidden depths of the occult. And he would tell him. He would. But later. He had to find the perfect time for that.

Not to mention that there was the whole publishing bit to deal with first.

‘Aziraphale the cards -’

‘Okay, fine, ask Crowley if he wants a reading then. I can bet you anything that there are going to be no Lover cards or whatever you wish to call them. The probability alone is infinitesimal. Unless you meddle with them, of course.’

‘I’d never do that!’

‘I know you wouldn’t. Not for winning a bet, at least.’

‘So, I could read his cards, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘And if the last card is indeed the Lovers, as I know it would be, then you tell him, yes?’

‘Alright, fine! You are impossible at times. But I will.’

Half an hour later Crowley sauntered inside the bookshop brandishing a stash of dog-eared papers that had seen a lot of better days. It was the manuscript that Aziraphale had printed for him and then corrected only for Crowley to add his own little notes to Aziraphale’s commentary since he obviously had more insight about the characters’ motivations than Aziraphale had and since the angel violently refused to use Google Docs, like the Victorian lady that he was.

‘Sorry to barge in unannounced,’ he declared to the bookshop at large. ‘Oh, book girl! Fancy seeing you here!’

‘Hey, honey. Aziraphale has lifted the ban on Tarot readings, just so you know,’ she smiled like the cat that got the canary and then probably had it cooked by a five Michelin star restaurant chef and paired it up with a very expensive red.

‘Did you now, angel? What could have possibly possessed you?’

‘I just thought that if we do this then she’d finally leave us be,’ Aziraphale only half lied.

‘Huh. Good thinking, that. Solid. So – book girl. How are we doing this. And, just so you know – my shift starts in an hour so make it quick since I have to walk all the way over.’

‘Over….?’ Anathema tried for the thousandth time.

‘Over to where I work, what?’

She sighed and accepted today’s small victory. You couldn’t have them all at once.

‘Alright, sit down,’ she pointed at Aziraphale’s desk and she dragged a chair to sit on the opposite side, spreading the deck of cards all over Aziraphale’s laptop like it was of little import. Which it was. Crowley had thought to spill wine on that ancient monstrosity many a time to get the angel to buy a new one but he could never get himself to do something like this to him. He knew how much the angel cared for all of his earthly possessions, the older the better, and that would have been just cruel an uncalled for. That didn’t mean he hadn’t considered it many _many_ times over the past few months. Crowley was not a particularly nice person.

‘You have to pick three cards.’

‘You don’t say. I’ve seen this done on TV, you know...’

She ignored the interruption and nodded down towards the cards.

Crowley sighed and picked the one closest to him since really, why was he doing this bullshit anyway.

‘First card is your past. The ten of swords.’

Anathema was saying something about his past trauma and loss and wounds and suchlike. He let it wash over him as he didn’t particularly want to revisit that bit of his life.

Okay, maybe some of that was rather spot on but she might as well have gotten that from her conversations with Aziraphale. It wasn’t like he was awfully secretive about his past with anyone. Sob story and whatnot. Story of his life.

He nodded at her but dismissed the matter entirely checking his watch in the meantime. This was taking far longer than he had expected.

‘Second card. The present. Knight of cups.’

He listened to Anathema talk about new arrivals, propositions, invitations, creativity, imagination and some other crap.

Again. Such a bunch of bollocks turned into occult ramblings.

She knew what his present was like. They saw each other once a week so it was rather obvious. And despite her foray into bullcrap like this she was a rather sharp tool in the shed so she was bound to have insight into his life and how his mind worked.

Okay, so this was actually taking forever. He’d have to sprint to get back to work. He hadn’t expected her to be here in the first place or to give him a reading in the second so he had initially thought this was going to be a swift pop in and out.

‘The third one. The future.’

‘Yeah, alright, could we just hurry this along?’

Aziraphale drew nearer and sat down on the edge of the desk with an intrigued look on his face. _Oh please, not the angel too…_

Anathema was all smiles as she turned over the last card.

‘And the card is the Lov… _oh_ …’

‘Listen, as much as I love your bubbly company, I really have to dash. Quaint tower that. Big fan of towers me. See you next week. Angel, take care,’ he said as he got up, jogged to the door and dashed outside.

‘Hah!’ Aziraphale exclaimed triumphantly looking down at the deck. ‘I told you that the chances are rather slim, my girl. It’s just basic probability.’

‘Aziraphle, this is bad…’

‘I can see how you would say that. I am sorry it didn’t work out in your favour. Would have loved to see that myself. But, as you can see, the cards don’t always tell you what you want to hear.’

‘It’s not about what one wants to hear. They are telling you what’s gonna happen. They changed from last week. Something’s changed.’

‘That might as well be, dear girl, but I think the point is that they are not infallible.’

‘Aziraphale, I really don’t think you understand. This is… not a good card.’

Azirpahle frowned at her.

‘You really should tell him,’ she tried again.

87His words, not Aziraphale’s.

88Her words, not Aziraphale’s. Not that he wasn’t of the same opinion. About the hips, not the aura.

89And because they were wankers. But that went without saying.

90In more ways than one.

91Posh and bland people who longed after her fortune while looking at her with contempt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst incoming in... 3... 2... 1...


	21. ...on a cursed morning...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE ANGSTE (or at least some parts of it)
> 
> CW: Panic attacks, spiralling, low self-esteem issues (like a LOT), and sadness (a lot of that too)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose), you are a sweetheart

**Thursday, June 28th**

Crowley was stretching his limbs on the soft sheets and thinking that whatever he must have done to deserve this had to be huge. Something like stop the end of the world or something on an equal scale. Otherwise he just couldn’t imagine how he got this lucky.

He extended his hand to feel for the angel and possibly hug him tightly and never let him go. That was something he wanted to do for the rest of his life. But as he fumbled around he realised he was alone in bed and opened his eyes to test his theory. It was indeed correct. But the sheets were still warm so Aziraphale hadn’t been gone long. Probably he’d just gone to take a shower or down to the kitchen to fix up breakfast.

So he got out of bed, still a little drunk on whatever happened the previous evening and the evening before that with the stupidest grin on his face.

He’d have to book them a table at the Ritz so he started looking for his phone that had been discarded as soon as he had placed the food order the previous day and completely forgotten about. It was a wonder he still had any battery left, he pondered as he found the webpage and quickly typed in the details for the reservation.

He initially thought lunch but realised that he would have no time to get ready at all.

And he wanted to woo the angel. Really properly woo him. That meant he’d have to get home at some point and pick up something more appropriate than jeans and a faded T-shirt.... He was sure he’d find something designer-made from all of his flea-market “research”. He already had the perfect blazer in mind. He might even wear a tie if he didn’t find that silk blouse that exposed his collarbones that Bee seemed to borrow an awful lot. He pressed his fingers to a purple mark just under his ear and his grin widened. Only a few hours, he told himself as he submitted the form and waited patiently to receive a confirmation email.

What else… hmm. He’d braid his hair and maybe… maybe leave the sunglasses at home. He was still on the fence about that but Aziraphale had said that he liked his eyes, right? This felt like an eye-to-eye type of moment. He could do it. He had to. For the angel. He had done so many things already, went so far outside his comfort zone – what was one more?

If anyone would have told him last year that he’d find someone who cared for him as a whole, for his ideas and his stories and his stupid jokes he would have laughed in their face. Of course there was always Bea, but Bea didn’t count. They had to put up with everything because, for some reason or other they had chosen to be his friend all of those years ago.

 _Oh shit._ Bea.

He started searching through all ten of his contacts and dialled their number. After it rang about six times they finally picked up with a groan.

‘You’d better be dead or dying if you’re calling at this hour.’

‘I’m not. That’s why I called. Didn’t want you to think I’m dead in a ditch since I didn’t call yesterday. Sorry ‘bout that. It’s just that -’

‘You’ve been banging Aziraphale.’

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

‘I… how did you know?’

‘You always call or text if you just spend the night on the sofa. I figured that you had more important things on your mind. Or on your other parts.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘So, how was it? On a scale of one to ten?’

‘A gentleman never kisses and tells,’ Crowley replied with a snort that was far more giggle than he would ever admit to himself or anyone else.

‘When the fuck have you ever been a gentleman? Not to mention that apparently you did more than kiss.’

‘Sod off, Bee! You know what I mean. I’m taking him to the Ritz tonight.’

‘That good, eh?’

‘Seriously, sod off. And yes. And…’

‘You’re gonna tell him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fucking finally. The last couple of months have been living hell with you pining more than a forest in Norway.’

‘I wasn’t -’

‘Whining more than a kicked puppy?’

‘I really wasn’t -’

‘It’s good, though. I’m happy for you. Oh wow. I said that and didn’t catch on fire. Huh. Fancy that.’

‘Oh really, _do_ sod off,’ he said in the mouthpiece and ended the call with another giggle that he would swear that never left his lips if pressed upon it on a later date.

What else… what else… _ah, flowers!_

He dialled Iris because, despite her being quite apt when new technology was involved92, she did have a hard time reading texts, what with her eyesight and all.

‘Oh, hello, dearie,’ he heard her cheerful voice. She was always cheerful, that woman. A ray of sunshine in her own right. ‘I haven’t forgotten to put something aside for that nice young man of yours.’

In what universe could anyone be thinking of Aziraphale and their mind going to “young man” he had no clue. The man had probably been born forty. But Iris hadn’t met him and she did like to dangle her age card over everyone’s head as if it somehow made her know all the mysteries of the universe. _Not that she wasn’t a terribly smart old biddy._

‘I actually had something else in mind. Roses. A dozen of them. And don’t you try selling me any of them yesterday’s roses, either. I know how those look.’

‘Oh dear, how wonderful. I am very happy for you.’

‘Mng. Yeah.’

‘I’ll have them wrapped and ready for you. It was about time too.’

_You could never put anything past her, could you?_

Not that he gave a shit anymore.

He actually thought this was it. Not a one – well, two – night stand. Not a random hook-up. Not someone who only valued him because he had transformed sauntering into an artform.

Crowley knew damn well what he looked like and since he had always been afraid of forming any human connections for fear of getting hurt in the process, he actually devoted a lot of time to present that certain part of himself as all there was to him. But for once this felt like something more.

The angel apparently cared about him. And never lied to him. And listened and provided commentary. Not to mention that he had been adamant about his stories from the get-go.

_What else could he do?_

Maybe take him dancing? _Did angels dance_? Must’ve what with the eternal debate about heads of pins and all of that.

He fumbled for his clothes but didn’t manage to find anything presentable on the floor so he grabbed the nearest thing – Aziraphale’s shirt – and put it on, buttoning it up only for propriety’s sake and leaving little to the imagination.

If he had it his way then this morning they would get an encore of the last two days’ activities.

He was open to new performances as well. Hell, he was open to anything, as long as it was with Aziraphale.

He fished for the spare hairband that he always kept in the pocket of his jeans and well, this time the nightstand, and tied his hair up in a messy bun. A thoroughly well-fucked bun – as he had called that particular hairdo on previous occasions. And then he headed downstairs.

He needed coffee. And then…who knew?

Once in the kitchen he fiddled with Aziraphale’s very new fangled coffee press. He couldn’t stop smiling, all the while.

 _Was it…was this how it felt to have people care about you?_ Of course, Bea had always cared about him and probably Dana didn’t want to see him dead in a ditch but this was something altogether new. He never experienced something like this in any of his previous relationships. Could he even call them that? Whatever those had been, and there have been a lot of them, none of the people he had taken to bed before had ever acted like his angel did.

He knew what he looked like – temptation on two legs. He never made a point of denying it. And despite Bea’s endless teasing and calling him a shameless slut he supposed there was some truth behind those words. So he had no problem believing that Aziraphale wanted to fuck him until the end of days. A lot of people in his past had been particularly honest about that bit. What he had trouble believing was that anyone, especially someone as well read and clever as the angel wanted anything to do with him outside the bedroom. That he actually treasured him for his ideas and beliefs and his stories. That he didn’t think him this ugly and tainted thing that would be more fitting to be paid by the hour and to shoo away from your bedroom long before dawn, lest the neighbours would see.

He smiled so hard his cheeks started hurting by the time the coffee was done brewing. And so caught up in his thoughts was he that he completely missed the sound of raised voices from the bookshop itself.

He couldn’t make an appearance like that, basically in the nude but he could listen in, just for a bit. He always enjoyed hearing Aziraphale talk to potential customers. He was so adorably snippy to those poor sods. They never knew what hit them.

So, cup in hand, he headed for the backroom that separated the living area from the bookshop proper and sat there in the doorframe with a besotted smile on his face. Or at least he did that before he heard the voice of whoever it was that Aziraphale was arguing with.

‘Listen, Aziraphale. I understand the benefit of a good fuck every now and again as much as the next man but this is just ridiculous.’

‘What exactly? Publishing the stories of a very talented person? How is that ridiculous?’

‘Aziraphale, _sunshine_. You can’t honestly believe that Empyrean Press would ever associate its name with that immature drivel? I mean, we always just assumed you wanted a piece of hot ass and rolled with it last time we met you two. But, I mean, come on? Who would even read that? Kids. That’s who.’

There was a long moment of silence.

Crowley fought his hardest to keep breathing, his hands clasped so tight around the coffee cup that he feared that he would smash it into pieces.

‘Did you even read it?’ Aziraphale finally managed in an odd tone of voice.

‘Read it? Why would I read that crap? Wizards and magical kingdoms and whatever other shit that talentless slut came up with. It’s complete nonsense anyway. I mean, I guess you turned us a bit of a profit with your “historical dramas” or whatever it was you wrote. But fairy tales? Come on!’

‘I’ll have you know that -’

‘You’ll have me know?’ Gabriel burst out laughing. ‘I can give you one more week. Fuck him by the end of it and be done with it. There is no way in hell we are publishing your rent-boy’s stupid stories just so you could basically afford an in-house whore without actually having to pay for it. I thought I made it very clear the first ten times I told you that.’

Crowley grabbed the nearest thing he could get a hold of but he felt his knees almost giving in under him. He definitely felt the coffee mug slipping from his fingers.

The two people inside the bookshop must have heard it smashing on the floor as the conversation stopped immediately.

But for whatever reason his legs refused to move even an inch as he just stood there dumbly and tears threatened to spill.

_Fucking useless cunt. Why did he think this would be any different?_

Aziraphale darted for the door trying to close it before Gabriel could see whoever was on the other side, but Gabriel was quicker on his feet.

As soon as he set eyes on Crowley he started laughing which prompted Crowley’s legs to figure out how movement went almost instantly.

He could let Aziraphale see him at his lowest even if he had, as the angel had put it “been played for a sucker”. But he’d never give Gabriel fucking Herald the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

So he took the stairs, two steps at a time, heading for the bedroom. He needed to get out of there. Now.

‘Why are you even pursuing this publishing thing if you fucked him already? Wanted an encore?’ he could hear Gabriel’s voice still amused and very very snarky.

‘Gabriel, I must ask you to -’

‘I mean, I get why he still hangs along until he sees his book deal go through. It’s not like a lot of people would want to get together with you without an ulterior motive. But you had your fun, so just give it a rest.’

It was at this particular moment that Crowley slammed the door of the bedroom shut.

Aziraphale had told him time and time again that he was still waiting to hear from the publishing house. Well that apparently had been a bunch of bollocks.

_What did he think would happen if he came clean?_

_Did he think Crowley wouldn’t be able to handle being told once again that the stories were shit?_ He knew that already. Had known it for a while.

_Did he think that if he wouldn’t help him get published that Crowley would fuck off into the sunset and never speak to him again? Was that how little he thought of him? Of their friendship?_

That somehow stung even worse.

_Or could it be that Gabriel was right?_

Was he just some eye candy that Aziraphale would fuck for a while until he got bored and then discard like yesterday’s garbage?

 _Seemed like it_ , he thought and fought back a sob.

He was spiralling. Clearly spiralling.

He thought about it long and hard and whenever he had asked Aziraphale about it he had been met with vague excuses or him simply avoiding the question. It wasn’t about the publishing. Crowley didn’t even think about that anymore since it didn’t seem like it was happening. It was about the lying. Everyone he knew had lied to him at some point, other than Bee and up until now, the angel. He just couldn’t get past that. Was everything else a lie as well? The chats and the “my dears” and him actually being interested in his ideas? Might have. Otherwise why would Aziraphale lie about that? It cast doubt over all of his interactions from the last six months and that just wasn’t fair.

How much time had even passed since he closed the bedroom door? Aeons it would seem.

Everything was blurred and hazy and there was a strange ringing in his ears. Breathing was difficult he realised as he fought for gulps of air in between the sobs.

He had to get out of here and he had to get out of here now.

He needed to focus. _Right_. Pants. He should put on pants. And trousers probably. He didn’t want to shock any old ladies into a heart attack or anything. Socks. He needed to find those as well. He managed to find one and gave up on the other entirely as he put on his boots.

His T-shirt was nowhere to be found. _Oh. Right_. It was downstairs in the bookshop. But he would be damned to hell and back again if he climbed down those stairs bare chested. The angel would just have to give up his shirt. It wasn’t like Crowley hadn’t given up what little remained of his dignity. He buttoned it fully and started looking for his sunglasses. _Oh._ Those were downstairs as well. He just needed to keep his gaze on the floor until he reached them and that was that. He would not give Gabriel the satisfaction of seeing him crying.

He drew in a deep breath and then another and then opened the door.

It was eerily quiet downstairs.

No matter.

He would grab his canvas bag and his stupid sunglasses and be out of here for good.

He was good at doing that. It probably showed, too.

It’s what Aziraphale apparently wanted in the first place and now he had the perfect excuse. He didn’t even need to lay the news on Crowley. He had Gabriel doing that. _Perfect plan._

He reached the couch and took a hold of the bag when Aziraphale’s voice rang from the front of the bookshop.

‘Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry -’

‘Drop it, angel.’

The sunglasses were nowhere to be found.

‘My dear, you have to let me explain.’

‘I don’t need to do anything for you!’

Aziraphale was looking at him in pure shock.

‘What I mean is… is…’

Crowley spotted his glasses on the ground near one of the bookshelves and remembered how they got there and despair turned to anger.

‘What the fuck do you mean? Was it nice for you, at least?’

Aziraphale was still looking at him confused.

‘The shagging. Was that nice? Do I get a good review? Five out of five and all that. Maybe I should up the prices, hmm?’

‘Crowley, darling -’

‘Don’t you dare!’ he nearly yelled as he picked up the glasses and used them to point at Aziraphale. ‘Don’t you fucking dare call me that!’

He knew he should put them on but he wanted Aziraphale to have one last good look at him and what he managed to achieve with all of his lying. He knew he looked absolutely wretched. He hoped Aziraphale would at least feel bad for that.

‘You need to let me explain, Crowley!’

‘I don’t need to do anything, ang….aaaaaaaaarrrrgh.’

He pushed past Aziraphale and into the bookshop proper.

‘Don’t call me. Ever.’

‘Crowley please!’ Aziraphale blurted out as he grabbed Crowley’s wrist in a futile attempt to make him stay and listen.

Crowley looked at the hand as if it visibly burned him and then made eye contact with Aziraphale with eyes as cold as ice. Aziraphale visibly flinched and drew back.

‘And never _ever_ do that again. I am not a piece of property that you can grab and keep in place. What, did you think just because you wined and dined me that would be it? I’d submit to your every whim? I’m not a whore, Aziraphale, despite you all believing that.’

Aziraphale couldn’t make heads nor tails about where this was all coming from.

‘I told you ever since we first met that I don’t like being duped. It was just that _one_ thing. And what did you do? You lied to me about never hearing back from them when it’s obvious that you did. You knew I wasn’t getting a book deal and you lied to me. Straight to my face. I hope you realise how cheap this makes me feel. How used. You said it yourself. You wanted to bone me from the very beginning. Well now you did. I really hope you’re happy.’

‘Crowley I never…’

‘To think that I actually thought this was something more. That you actually valued my ideas. That my stories were worth something, at least to you. Oh, it must have been such a bother to entertain all of my ramblings for all of those months and make me believe that I wasn’t just some piece of arse. Put some real backbone into it, too. My heart is breaking for you. The shit you had to put up with. How stupid you must have thought I was. Hell, how stupid I actually was, apparently.’

Aziraphale tried reaching out again but Crowley drew back as if the mere touch would burn him, by now already at the door.

‘Don’t. Just don’t.’

Crowley drew in a deep breath and lifted his eyes yet again, this time crying openly, his anger giving way to something else entirely.

‘I’ve been through a lot of shit in my life, Aziraphale. Met a lot of people who really hurt me. But no one managed to hurt me as much as you just did. I really thought this could have been something...more. Or maybe that was just me projecting. I tend to do that a lot. I… I wish you a happy life, angel,’ he said as he closed the door behind him.

92Or at least a thousand times more apt than Aziraphale, even if that was setting the bar a little bit low.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tadaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!! ANGSTE!


	22. ...there was a trusted friend...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have some more angst. On the house.
> 
> CW: Unhealthy coping mechanisms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many thanks to [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose) for being a wonderful beta!

**Thursday, June 28th**

Crowley had no idea where he was going. He just knew that he had to get out of the bookshop and get out fast. He had no direction in mind and at some point realised that he had ventured towards the river for whatever fucking reason, instead of going home. Not that he wanted to go home.

He was already on Victoria Embankment proper when his phone started buzzing something fierce.

He looked at the phone screen for a while without understanding exactly what he was seeing before he was able to properly comprehend what the letters on the screen meant.

Aziraphale was calling him.

He had not factored that possibility in.

There were quite a few texts too. About ten of them.

 _Well, it was easy to solve that bit, at least_ , he thought as he looked at the phone some more and then he threw it in the Thames.

He’d have to do something about his email too and all of those accounts on the other sites, but that was for later. For now he just wanted to amble around the city with no clear direction in mind.

He’d have to work tonight. But Bea would probably understand if he skipped his shift. _And if they didn't, then fuck them._

He did have to get home at some point, though. His opinions about Bea agreeing or disagreeing with his work schedule were one thing and actually having them worry about him was another one entirely. And now that he no longer had a phone – _God that had been a stupid move_ – they had no actual way of reaching him.

After spending the better part of four hours ambling about he headed back to Camden, hoping that Bea would be at home so that he could at least tell them about the shift change.

He was sure Eric could handle it but he did have moments when he got quite prissy.

He had no idea why he was focusing on things like that instead of the bigger issues, but his mind just chose to do that instead.

Like it had chosen to fixate on the fact that one of the seam of his jeans was coming undone for a full ten minutes. And that seagulls were quite vicious fuckers for another ten. That traffic was horrid for a full two. But that was only because he daily pondered about that so there wasn’t much novelty there. That he had to go grocery shopping one of these days. Bea would want one of those stupid kinds of “milk” they drank these days and Dana had asked for scones at some point, right?

It was as he pondered how many instant noodles packs to buy that he reached the flat and turned the key in the lock.

Oh, and they probably needed some detergent too, he thought as the door opened and his eyes landed on… _oh._

It had been many months back - as far as six of them – that he had attached the spun glass star onto the lamp in the middle of the living room.

He looked at it for a long minute before deciding to close the door and approach it cautiously.

He thought about taking it down and just smashing it to the ground, he really did.

But that was what people did in a fit of anger. And he wasn’t angry. He was…

He didn’t know what he was.

_Tired._

_Drained._

So he gently took it down and cradled it in his hands before finding a box and putting it away.

That was a problem that future Crowley needed to deal with. Present Crowley just wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

So he did the next best thing which was curl up on the sofa, Dana’s fish pillow kept tightly to his chest and started sobbing.

It was about an hour later that Bea came home and slammed the door, already fuming.

‘You lazy fuck. You were supposed to be at… oh,’ they remarked as they eyed the quite barren lamp in the middle of the room. They had become so accustomed with the huge silver star dangling from it that they immediately realised it was missing.

And then they noticed Crowley, dressed in something that they were sure he had not at any point possessed doing stuff that Dana would probably berate him for later to her favourite pillow. Such as dripping snot all over it.

‘Duck?’ they tried as they sat down on the couch and placed a reassuring hand on his hip.

But he wasn’t turning around and he wasn’t acknowledging them at all, just staring glass-eyed at the back of the couch.

‘Okay. Okay. This is one of those non-talking situations. Scoot over then.’

When he didn’t even do that, Bea discarded their shoes and nearly climbed on top of him, at some point landing in between him and the pillows. And then they hugged him tightly.

Bea knew that Crowley had many moments when he didn’t want to talk about things. Many moments when he got too emotional to actually start saying what went wrong. They had lived through quite a lot of them at the orphanage. And they knew that in those moments the best course of action had been to crawl into his bed and give him the tightest of bear-hugs their small frame could muster.

It took a while but eventually he hugged them back.

\---

Crowley was doing the best he could to keep it together. That didn’t mean he actually succeeded but he went through the motions.

He got up at noon everyday.

Brushed his teeth, took a shower, got dressed.

Then he went to work in Iris’s flower shop. Some of the customers tried engaging into conversations about loved ones and the reasons why they were buying whatever they were buying.

He let all of the chatter wash over him as he nodded and packed the bouquets up.

He was questioned on many an occasion about the meanings behind the flowers and each time declared _he had no idea, he is just a salesperson, that would be twenty quid, thank you._

If Iris had sensed his change in demeanour she had the good grace not to mention it. _Why should she?_ He was there on a daily basis and helping out as much as he could when her own daughter wasn’t around. And he had quite the green thumb so there was no use looking a gift horse in the mouth, Crowley surmised.

In actuality Iris was all kinds of concerned about him and on the phone with Bea constantly exchanging information about his state of mind.

She would insist he eat at least once when he was in her shop under threats of throwing him out altogether. So he ate whatever was presented to him, having no idea what it was more than half the time. It all tasted ashen anyway.

His own plants hadn’t fared so well since he had stopped watering them altogether at some point.

Bea had suggested yelling at them but he didn’t feel like yelling. Yelling meant you had a drive to go forward. And he really didn’t.

Before meeting Aziraphale he had long ago made peace with the fact that he was going to die alone. Maybe be that fun wacky uncle who came up with improper presents if Bea and Dana ever adopted a kid. But he didn’t hope for much else.

And then he had met the angel and he had had such hopes.

_All for nothing._

_Same fucking old, as usual._

Crowley was someone you shagged in the bathroom of a seedy nightclub. He wasn’t someone you brought home. He wasn’t someone you built a life with.

He had no idea why he had thought of himself as being more than that but, for some reason or other, he had and being brought down a peg or twenty always hurt.

He felt like there was a hollow space inside his chest that ached and ached and no matter what he did and tried to fill it with remained empty.

Then he’d continue with his shifts at the diner if only to get his mind to stop thinking about it incessantly. Not that he was any good at doing that either. He would take orders and then serve people working almost on autopilot, not even registering what people were saying to him half the time.

He would spend most of his days in such a haze. Nodding when he was being addressed, replying when he was being spoken to. Even sometimes acknowledging Eric’s shifts in behaviour. For the most part Bea and Dana didn’t exactly know how to approach the whole situation so they just let him be for a while until one night the knot in his throat that became bigger and bigger and threatened to suffocate him completely unravelled and he broke down sobbing in Bea’s arms while Dana thought it best to just scurry off and make them both a cup of tea.

He talked for hours and Bea listened and braided his hair and was so considerate that they only threatened to break Aziraphale’s legs once. Then they bundled him up in a thick quilt despite it being late July and spent the rest of the night on the couch with him watching scary movies and at some point fell asleep all tangled together under the blankets.

Dana hadn’t seemed to mind as she got herself to bed after the second movie. She knew Crowley would sometimes get like this and she knew he needed Bea there for him to provide a soothing touch as much as a (not so) kind word. But even she had to admit that she had never seen him like this before. And the sobbing wasn’t even what scared her the most. It was a good thing crying your eyes out once in a while. Cathartic. It was the complete state of numbness that they had seen him in for a full month beforehand that was more worrying.

And it had been for a full week. _Cathartic, that was_.

He finally got around to deleting his email address – not like anyone of any import was sending him any emails. Other than the two people living with him and Deidre who sometimes sent him funny cat videos on Facebook there was no one who would contact him online. There were, of course, various ads that either waxed poetic about the benefits of weight loss93 or the benefits of stuff pertaining to some rather intimate areas of his body94. There were of course some fifty something emails from Aziraphale but he didn’t even glance over the subject matter before deleting his account. Facebook too. Good on him for remembering about Deidre and her cat vids. Apparently he had a friend request from Aziraphale on that too. Since when the hell did the angel even have Facebook? _Anyway. Delete_. The stories had to go as well. _Those had to go for sure_ , he thought as the following days he deleted them all, one by one.

That is to say until he was about to press the delete button on the last one. He had already asked Bea to disable the comments for him weeks ago so at least here he was free of the barrage of possible whatevers that Aziraphale would fling at him. But it was unfinished as of yet. And he found out that the last posted chapter was ending on a rather optimist note. _Nah. Can’t have that._

So he sat down for a week and finished the story.

Bea had been delighted at first, thinking that writing will get him out of his funk and, knowing most of Lily’s stories by heart ever since she was a teenager, being glad that Crowley was going to immerse himself in such happy and hopeful tales.

It was only one evening mid-August when they wanted to troll some flat-Earthers on Twitter when they noticed that the forum page was still open on their laptop and, since they never had any qualms about invading Crowley’s privacy, started reading the ending that they realised how wrong they were.

‘Oh, duckie…’ they muttered under their breath as they squeezed one of his knees since more often than not they stayed on the couch long after he fell asleep to make sure that he was properly tucked in and that he didn’t immediately wake up because of a nightmare. Dagon was understanding enough.

So they read it and re-read it again and decided that this was one of those nights they would spend on the sofa.

And the next week when they tried finding the story to show it to Dagon so as to prove that they really did need to raise some money for Crowley to see someone… a proper someone… that they realised that he had deleted that as well.

‘You are going to be the death of me, you insufferable man, you,’ Bee muttered under their breath as they fixed dinner for them and Dana and thought long and hard about telling Crowley to stop working in the diner.

Crowley wouldn’t have listened to them regardless.

He tried his hardest to keep his mind occupied and even if selling either flowers or burgers didn’t necessarily help with that, it wasn’t that bad, either.

He tried his hardest to hate the angel. He really did. But it was damn near impossible. Despite the lies and despite the hurt and despite the fact that Crowley had never felt so lost and out of place his entire life whenever he would let his thoughts venture in Aziraphale’s direction his heart swelled and wasn’t that some next level bullshit right there?

He just needed to do his job(s) and keep his head low and never look at anyone ever again thinking that they could love him and that would be it. _Right? Simple._

The kids were being a nuisance, he thought at some point after they had bothered him for the third time that week to go out and spend the day in the park with them. Something needed to be done about that, so the next time Iris paid him he went and bought them a PlayStation which he dropped unceremoniously in Deidre’s unsuspecting arms just after she got back from one of her nightshifts.

Then he spent the next three days wallowing on the couch.

It was about the middle of October when Bea decided that they had had enough and started planning an intervention.

It was not very successful.

Crowley just stared blankly at them and then curled up on the sofa and ignored everyone for the next hour.

In November Bea had decided that maybe they should just try and take him out for a spin and go and inspect the markets. Too bad that they were already starting all of the Christmas shenanigans.

He mumbled something about glass-spun stars and was back at the flat in an instant.

Come December Bea just could not take it anymore.

Crowley was not only their dearest and oldest friend. He was like a brother to them. They had stood up for each other95 and they had been on each other’s side for ages now. No one caused him this massive amount of pain and lived to tell the tale.

They would find Aziraphale and then they would probably describe some very imaginative things that would happen to his kneecaps or probably his optic nerves.

_Fuck that guy. Fuck him to hell and back._

They just had to find him first. And of course Crowley was never to know about it so they could never ask him about where the angel lived.

But they had their means.

Probably a shiv was the best way to go at it.

Nevermind. They could get creative.

**Saturday, December 15th**

There was a loud thud from the entrance that Crowley catalogued as the door being smashed into the side wall. Bea had long ago forgone any notion of getting their safety deposit back and acted like it.

But slamming doors without a proper reason didn’t seem like them. Well... it did. But not without a _really_ good reason.

And then something hit him square in the chest so his attention was distracted from whatever reality TV show he was watching at the moment.

‘You absolute fucking _wanker_!’ Bea snarled at him and he thought it best to enquire about what brought this kind of ire on so he looked down at his lap and picked up a book.

He turned it over and stared at the title for a while. And then stared at the name on the cover for a while longer.

‘Oh,’ he eventually managed.

‘Ya think? I can’t believe I am sharing a flat with a brain-dead mollusc,’ Bea threw their hands up in despair and went to the kitchen to fix themself a drink.

Crowley looked at the book in his lap yet again and started tracing a finger over the letters of the name on the cover.

_Anthony J. Crowley._

Well, _fuck me…_

93Which he didn’t really need seeing as he had lost about ten pounds in the last month alone without the help of any pills.

94Which he really hoped he didn’t need but who was he to say.

95Some more than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, poor Crowley and all - but hey, at least it has a hopeful ending, right?


	23. ...there was an unexpected alliance...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's POV is finally here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose) for everything!

** Tuesday. May 22nd **

‘Aziraphale Fell. Yes. And I’d like to speak with -’ Aziraphale huffed as whatever intern had answered the call saw fit to interrupt him after he waited to be put through for quite an impolite amount of time.

‘Yes yes. I assure you there is no coincidence… yes as in _that_ A.Z. Fell. Now could you please –‘

He was cut off again as whoever was on the other end saw fit to loudly declare to the whole department that _THE_ A. Z. Fell had called.

This was getting quite annoying, if he was being honest.

After some other mindless chatter on the other end, the kid returned to the phone.

‘Yessir, mister Fell, sir. What can I do you for?’

‘I was hoping I could speak with -’ he paused for a bit as he checked the business card that had been given to him ages ago. ‘Samantha Morgan?’

‘Just a minute sir,’ the kid said and some more indiscernible chatter could be heard before a slightly hissy voice rang clear.

‘Didn’t I tell you all you are not to take his calls? Fuck’s sake! Now give that here.’

_What the heavens was that all about?_

‘Aziraphale! _Darling_! So glad to hear from you again!’ was now plainly heard in the mouthpiece in the most saccharine tone he ever had the displeasure to hear.

‘Um, yes. A pleasure, I’m sure.’

‘So, what makes you call our little enterprise?’

‘Well, you see, I sent you a manuscript about a week ago and I haven’t heard from you since so I was wondering if you ever had the chance to read it.’

‘Oh, one of the interns must have misplaced it. You know how it is. Interns, am I right?’ she let out a fake-sounding bark of laughter.

Aziraphale’s bastard streak was nagging at him to just tell her that “there was no problem, he’d just send another one and then one more after that”, but after hearing the earlier exchange he didn’t think that he should bother.

‘I see, yes. Well hope to hear from you soon and here’s to future collaborations.’

‘Oh, most definitely. We should grab a coffee sometime. Future colab central, you know me,’ Samantha said.

‘Yes. Rather.’

Aziraphale put his phone down and frowned.

He didn’t recall upsetting the woman in any way in the past so he had no idea what had just happened and why he got this particular treatment. But he did know that it was highly irregular.

He’d have to call Hadley next. Awful bloke. Not that Samantha had been any better. Or any of the others, come to think about it.

‘Hello, yes. I’d like to speak with Hadley Eades.’

‘Please hold.’

‘Thank you, my dear.’

‘Yea? Who’s this?’

‘Well, hello. It’s Aziraphale. Fell,’ he added after a brief pause. ‘We met at the book fair last year. And the year before. I seem to recall I sent you a draft at some point maybe some four years ago. Whatever happened to that… huh, I’ve never heard from you again…’

There was a pause but the man didn’t seem in any hurry to answer his question.

‘Whadd’ya want then?’

‘Oh… no pleasantries, I see. Alright. I have this volume of short stories and I was wondering if you might be int-’

‘We don’t do short stories.’

‘I think I recall that you published three this year alone. It’s really good, if only you’d take a loo-’

‘We ain’t publishing you, at any rate, darlin’. Not after your lot’s endless cease and desists.’

‘What cea -’ he tried but the line was already dead.

_Oh, for heaven’s sake!_

He didn’t remember any sort of cease and desist. He’d have to talk to Michael about that. He fought back a shiver. Maybe just someone else from the department then. Legal was big enough. Maybe they wouldn’t run back and imediately rat him out.

He guessed he could always call miss Star. She seemed… _competent?_

She had always given him the creeps, truth be told, with features so perfectly sculpted they almost looked fake and eyes always wide and searching, bearing into your very soul. Not to mention that smile that always made her look like the notorious canary-obtaining cat. No. Made her look like she taught seminars on best techniques for avian acquisition to other interested cats twice a week. And got rich in the process.

But Aziraphale had nearly reached the end of his rolodex96 and he was no closer to getting anyone to even read the manuscript, let alone publish it.

It was good. He knew it was good. If only he could get other people to just give it a chance.

After the tenth or so call he realised that it wasn’t even about the manuscript itself. Usually when someone as well known as he was would call then you would damn well read the thing. Make an intern read it. Something. And yet…

He sighed and dialled her number.

‘Hello, it’s -’

‘Aziraphale! Quelle surprise! So lovely hearing from you, it’s been _ages_!’

‘Hello, Ms. Star -’

‘Oh, call me Lucille, please.’

Aziraphale very much didn’t want to be on first name basis with the young publisher but what was he to do?

‘Very well. Lucille then. I was wondering if I could send you a manuscript. It’s not mine!’ he added instantly before being shut down. ‘It’s just… a friend’s.’

‘And why doesn’t your friend send it himself then?’

‘He doesn’t know how the whole publishing business works.’

‘You scratch my back, I scratch your back, that kinda thing?’

He could hear her sitting back in her chair and crossing her legs on top of her desk from her tone alone.

‘No. _Absolutely_ not. But there are so many manuscripts you have to go through on a daily basis. I just wanted to give him a fighting chance. Listen. It’s good. It really is.’

‘The famous A. Z. Fell seal of approval, how quaint.’

‘Indeed. And if it’s anything other than up to standard then you don’t have to publish it but -’

‘But waving your name around should get it on publishers’ desks quicker, is that right?’

Aziraphale had never been a fan of violence in general and violence towards women in particular so he gritted his teeth and kept quiet.

‘Listen, darling, as much as I would like to help you out, and trust me, I would just love to see that smarmy smile wiped off your boorish cousin’s face, you aren’t going to convince anyone to even touch it with a ten-foot pole if you wave your name around like that.’

‘I assure you that was not my intention. I don’t want to get it published just because I’m a well-known author and I am most certainly not waving my name around. Furthermore, I think that would actually be the worst possible outcome where my friend is concerned. For him to think that -’

‘Nonononono, darling. You’re not listening to me properly. That book, whatever it is, has way better chances of getting published if someone were to drop it anonymously at the back entrance in a bag that said “dead pigeon; don’t open” then it has if you’re calling about it.’

‘What?’

‘If any other publishing house so much as takes a look at you – no – vaguely breathes in your direction, Empyrean can hand our arses back to us on a silver plate. Scratch the silver plate. They’d probably get that too after the court settlements. You’re basically untouchable by any other publishing house in the UK. I don’t know what the situation is across the pond but I wouldn’t keep my hopes up.’

‘I… that can’t be true.’

‘Oh, but it is.’

‘I’ve been calling people for months…’

‘Just have your friend send it over himself. If it’s as good as you say it shouldn’t be a problem.’

‘I… I wanted this to be a surprise… for his birthday. I thought I could write the preface…’

‘Then I’m sorry, but I can’t help you, darling.’

‘I… alright.’

‘Alright?’

‘I won’t write any preface. There’d be no mentions of my name. I’ll have someone else talk to you about it. But please, just give it a read.’

‘Fine. Send it over. I’m not promising anything, just so we’re clear. I’m only doing this to spite Herald.’

‘Thank you, my dear. Oh, thank you ever so much!’

‘What the hell have I dragged myself into,’ he could hear her mutter into the mouthpiece before she cleared her throat and continued. ‘This phonecall absolutely never happened.’

‘Of course.’

** Friday, May 25th **

‘So that is the long and the short of it,’ Aziraphale confessed to Anathema as he nursed his glass of wine with a slight frown.

She inspected him for a while over the rim of her own whisky tumbler and gave him a disappointed shake of her head.

‘Oh wow, I’m shocked. Seems like those cousins of yours really screwed you over. Who’d have ever thought…’

‘Now there’s no need to -’

‘Aziraphale, honey, I love you, you know that, right?’

He nodded.

‘But you really must stop defending them every chance you get. They are not very nice people and by that I mean they’re complete assholes, the both of them. And the publishing thing is just a dick move.’

He opened his mouth to protest but thought better and closed it again.

‘I really wanted to write that preface,’ he confessed some moments later.

‘I know, hun.’

‘I thought that I could actually be able to say everything I want to say about his wonderful stories. And that maybe then he’d…’

‘Understand how you feel about him? Yeah, I figured.’

She got up and went to pour herself another glass and then started pacing the backroom, tapping one of her fingers on the tumbler all the while.

‘Listen, leave Lucille to me. I can handle all the details if she doesn’t want to talk to you on the phone. Not that I blame her, if what she says is true. And I’m actually going to get you a lawyer. A proper one, not someone who only reports to Michael.’

‘Solicitor.’

‘Whatever, hun. I will get you that preface if it’s the last thing I do. Have you tried talking with them again, though? Are you completely certain they won’t publish it?’

‘I will keep trying. I really don’t want to sound ungrateful and what Ms. Star is doing is quite generous but…’

‘But Nine Circles isn’t Empyrean. I get it. They lack the funds for any good publicity campaign,’ she said as she paced some more. ‘But they’re good backup. And if you want to actually write even a sentence for them then I’ll need to see your contract with those fuckers. Let’s see if everything is as black and white as Lucille seems to think.’

‘I don’t have it.’

‘What do you mean you don’t have it?’

‘I never had it. I signed it and then it went to the legal department to be made…’ he waved his hand around, ‘well, more legal. I don’t know. I am not very good with these things.’

‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Aziraphale, you are absolutely clueless.’

He wanted to look affronted but even he knew that Anathema was right and that was probably a huge mistake on his part. And he couldn’t just pop in and demand to see it. Well, he could, but that would certainly be seen as a red flag. And he did still hope in his heart of hearts that he could convince Gabriel to publish so he didn’t want to burn any bridges quite yet.

‘Nevermind. I know people who know people. I’m getting that contract.’

‘You don’t propose anything… illegal, my dear?’

‘More like morally…gray?’

He didn’t necessarily know how to feel about this.

‘What I’m thinking is have someone infiltrate Empyrean. They’re always looking for unpaid interns, those shits.’

‘Yes, that is something that I have spoken to Gabriel about many times.’

‘Well, what goes around comes around so this time it will come back to bite them in the ass. We get someone to intern in Legal for a bit. Look for your contract since I’m sure they keep excellent records and steal it away. It’s not even stealing since, by all rights, you should have a copy. And then I’m going to ask one of my lawyers to look over it.’

‘Solicitors.’

‘Whatever. I’m sure there’s some really iffy things in the fine print if those cousins of yours are involved.’

‘This feels an awful lot like one of those heists from those movies Crowley likes.’

‘Well, who doesn’t like a good heist?’ Anathema smiled widely as she threw herself back on the couch nearly spilling half her whisky.

In between her and Crowley, Aziraphale was certain that he would have to buy a new rug soon. Maybe a darker colour so the spillage wouldn’t be so easy to notice.

** Wednesday, June 27th **

Aziraphale woke up early as he was known to do but for once didn’t hurry to start his day just yet.

All notions of urgency were completely erased from his mind as he admired the impossibly beautiful man sleeping just inches away.

He’s always thought that Crowley looked like a painting but now that feeling was more prevalent than ever, him laying naked in his bed like that, blissfully unaware of the world around him. He was bathed in sunlight and his long hair was spread on the pillow like a fiery halo around his head. Aziraphale could swear that there was a hint of a smile playing on his lips despite him still being asleep.

He leaned over and placed a lingering kiss on his forehead which was met with some grumbles but not much else.

 _Well then_. He would let Crowley sleep for a little while longer. Maybe fix them some breakfast like Crowley had done the day before.

He got out of bed as quietly as possible and, after finishing his morning routine, got dressed and went downstairs. He briefly thought about the clothes laying all over the floor but that was a problem for future Aziraphale. Present Aziraphale just wanted a cup of tea.

He was just about to put the kettle on when he heard the bell atop the entrance door jingle.

He knew for certain that he had locked the shop the previous day so he went to investigate only to be met with a sneering Gabriel, manuscript in one hand and key in the other.

 _Oh, for Heaven’s sake_ , he had completely forgotten that he had given Gabriel a key to the shop ages ago when he was working on his first book. It was always a good idea to give a family member a spare key. In case you got locked out or in case you were away and a pipe burst or maybe just to water the plants while you went on holiday.

That particular train of thought, although good in theory, had some major structural flaws. Namely: it was never a good idea to give Gabriel anything as he took and took on his own without any outside prompting; Aziraphale didn’t have any plants nor did he go on any holidays; no one in their right mind would think that Gabriel would ever come and deal with a burst pipe. And yet, here they were.

Aziraphale made a mental note to change the locks.

‘I thought you were dead or something,’ Gabriel remarked flatly.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I must have called you over fifty times yesterday.’

‘Oh. Terribly sorry. I must have been busy. Haven’t heard a thing.’

‘You’d better get that phone problem of yours fixed. I don’t like people not answering my calls and I don’t like being kept waiting.’

Aziraphale drew in a deep breath and tried to calm himself down so as not to say something he would later regret. He would try to get Gabriel to publish Crowley’s work at least once more. It was already all but settled with Lucille but he still very much wanted to write the preface and Anathema’s solicitors were still struggling with the contract. They said that they had found four loopholes that could be exploited but were not quite there yet.

Gabriel didn’t seem to notice the absolutely glacial expression on his cousin’s face as he continued.

‘Could you tell me what exactly is the meaning of this, sunshine?’ he said as he threw the manuscript on the nearest display table

‘The meaning of…? That is my book. I finished it and sent it over last week. I thought Uriel and Sandalphon would have had enough time to read it in a week so I don’t exactly understand the question.’

‘Oh, they read it alright! That’s why I was calling you. And wasting my valuable time being here today. It’s completely shit.’

‘Well, I am very sorry you feel that way. Did _you_ read it?’

‘Why the hell would I do that? I have editors for that crap. You promised me Game of Thrones and what you did was continue your little stupid servants story. No one wants to read about servants.’

‘I would think that after all these years I have a fair inkling what my readers want to read about.’

‘But we don’t care about your _readers_. They’re already gonna buy this crap. We care about attracting new people to gobble this up. And who in their right mind would like to read about Bob the kitchen boy or whatever?’

‘It’s actually two handmaidens called Anne and -’

‘I don’t care. And other people won’t either. You need to completely redo this and quick if we hope to get it ready in time for the holiday season.’

‘I’ll…think about it. There’s actually something else that I want to talk to you while you’re here. The collection of short stories.’

 _Well, here goes nothing_ , Aziraphale thought, but he had to at least try.

** Friday, June 8th **

Anathema had taken him out for sushi to celebrate her huge succes in getting her hands on his contract and they were already a little tipsy on sake when her phone started ringing.

As Aziraphale was given to understand everything had gone acording to plan and this - detective agency? PI agency? he had no idea – had sent someone to masquerade as a clerk and it had taken them less than a week to actually get their hands on the contract and exchange it with a photocopy. Chalky, he believed Anathema had called them but he wasn’t sure. He had to admit that he was a bit worried that people would find a clerk who just vanished after a week a bit suspicious but Anathema had assured him that he had nothing to worry about since apparently no one seemed to pay any mind to this person in particular in all of the other cases when Anathema had employed them. Aziraphale dreaded to ask what those were. And anyway, Anathema had further commented, they could always blame Michael for people randomly leaving. She was not a nice boss.

‘Hey, Lucy!’ Anathema nearly yelled into the mouthpiece.

‘Lucille. I’m calling to tell you that I read the manuscript and -’

‘Wait just a second. I’m not supposed to know anything about it. I’ll put Azi through.’

‘You are killing me, people.’

‘Hello, Ms. Star.’

‘Lucille. And didn’t I tell you I don’t want anyone to know we’ve been in contact?’

‘You are calling a different number…’

‘Fair point. Now. Let’s talk shop, darling.’

Aziraphale bit his lip.

‘I read it. It’s good.’

He let out a relieved breath and mentally thanked God and anyone else who might be tuning in.

‘We’re starting with eight thousand copies and then see where we go from there. Pass Ana over. If I’m signing anything it’s going to be with her. Wait – did you manage to sort the contract thing out?’

‘Not yet. We just got it. It will be a while. And even then, I don’t know if I could actually be able to write anything for Nine Circles so I thought that I’d try to pitch it to -’

‘Fucking Herald. I figured. Look, darling, I do not make a habit out of giving second chances. I like the work though. So you have one. Just one. I expect a definitive answer by the end of the month.’

‘You’ll have it. I promise. And do not get me wrong, I am extremely grateful for everything.’

‘Pah, gratitude. What good is that anyway? Pass Ana over.’

‘Thank you, Ms. Star. Lucille. Thank you so much.’

** Wednesday, June 27th **

If Crowley would have paid any attention as Aziraphale wrapped a hand around his wrist he would have noticed that his knuckles were bloody.

But Crowley’s focus was his pure rage and hurt and only that.

He never noticed that Aziraphale looked ruffled up and very red in the face. He never noticed the display table at the front of the shop being tipped over.

 _He must have heard the screaming_ , of that Aziraphale was certain. _How could he not?_

As soon as the door had been slammed in the upstairs flat he turned to Gabriel, eyes almost ablaze.

It was one thing for Gabriel to chastise and admonish him and quite a different thing altogether for him to say a word against Crowley. Or worse, for Crowley to actually hear that string of insults.

‘You come into my house and insult the man that I love and plan to spend the rest of my life with? How _dare_ you?’ he pointed an accusatory finger at Gabriel that made the man actually take a step back in spite of himself. And then backed up some more and nearly reached the front of the shop.

‘Now listen, sunshine, I get that you wanted a quick tumble in the sheets but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. And now everyone knows what’s what and you can focus on actually rewriting your book so we can get it on the shelves by Christmas, how’s that sound, hmm?’

‘I’m not publishing my book with Empyrean Press.’

‘Now don’t be stupid. We own the rights.’

‘Then have at it. I’m not publishing it at all. And I think you’d better leave.’

‘Listen to yourself. This isn’t you speaking. It’s that uneducated little whor -’

Aziraphale’s mind didn’t exactly wrap around how his body had decided to act on its own accord but the sound of his knuckles cracking when they made contact with Gabriel’s jaw was something that he would definitely not forget any time soon.

Nor was the fact that the man himself, tall and broad as he was, staggered backwards and tripped on one of the display tables, taking it down with him as he fell.

He brought a hand up and started massaging his cheek for a couple of seconds not being able to believe what just happened before he snapped out of it.

‘You fucking piece of shit!’ he snarled at Aziraphale.

‘I think this has been quite enough. I don’t want to see you at the manor anymore and I don’t want to be contacted by either you or Michael ever again. Now get the hell out of my bookshop!’

Gabriel’s face was a picture of pure rage. With some blood smeared on it as an added bonus as it was clear to Aziraphale that he had managed to split his lower lip open.

He did get up however and headed for the door only stopping on the threshold to cast another hateful glare at Aziraphale.

‘This isn’t over.’

‘I really hope for your own sake that it is.’

Aziraphale might have acted nice whenever he could. He might have been trod down on by his overbearing family. He might have even given in to a lot of requests that he felt unnecessary in order to keep everyone happy. But he was by no means a pushover. And if there was somewhere where he drew the line that was at people insulting Crowley. Or doing anything that would hurt that wonderful gentle soul.

He needed to apologise to him for Gabriel’s harsh words and assure him that none of what he said was true. Even if judging by the commotion alone he thought Crowley would already get the idea.

 _Oh, lord!_ He had yelled at Gabriel about how he loved the man and Crowley surely heard that. Not that it wasn’t true, obviously. But he rather imagined something a little bit more romantic for when he first confessed his feelings to him.

So it came as a huge shock that Crowley stormed downstairs angry at him of all people.

His words were lodged in his throat as he looked at the heartbreak on Crowley’s face and he knew that he could come up with nothing better than a sob.

Trying to reach out hadn’t helped either.

And then he heard the door close and despite all of the voices inside his head yelling at him to just get a move on and go after him, Aziraphale found that his feet were firmly glued to the floor and not likely to move anytime soon.

He covered his face with his palms and let out the sob that had threatened to spill ever since Crowley came downstairs.

It seemed like an eternity later when he finally managed to snap out of it and hurried to get his phone and quickly started typing.

He must have typed a novel’s worth of explanations and apologies but since he got not reply continued to message him for a full half hour. Then paced the shop for another half hour.

And then thought maybe he should actually call.

_It’s ringing, oh thank God!_

It rang for a full minute. But Aziraphale wasn’t easily swayed. He rang again. And again. _As long as it kept ringing it was alright._

He dialed the number once more.

_“Hi, this is Anthony Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style.”_

Aziraphale stared at the phone.

‘Oh, _fuck_!’

96Because he was the type of person who owned such a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to do a whole thing with the publishers and be sneaky about it but then reconsidered since subtlety is overrated and just went with the thing that made most sense for the story.
> 
> I'm sorry this is a boring chapter but loose ends won't tighten themselves, you know. Needs must and all...


	24. ...there was a book of tales...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have some more Azi being sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose) for the beta and the title and everything!

It had been almost impossible to go through the first month.

Staying inside the bookshop or, even more so, the bedroom upstairs, proved to be a feat that he could not deal with for the time being so he spent most of his time at the manor instead.

He just couldn’t look upon the rows of bookshelves without picturing Crowley lounging against them or sitting on the floor with books spread all around him as he did his research. He pictured him atop the ladders that led to the higher shelves or biting the end of a pencil deep in thought as he made notes in his little notebook, reading from ten books at the same time.

He couldn’t even begin to consider sitting in his old armchair or at his desk in front of the old laptop as he got flashbacks with Crowley sprawled on the couch doing God knew what. Or them sharing lunch over the low coffee table. Getting drunk together and rambling until ungodly hours.

When he entered the kitchen he remembered all the times when Crowley made him tea or cocoa without any previous prompting on his part just because Aziraphale was nose deep in a book or caught up in the intrigue of his latest chapter.

And that wasn’t even mentioning the upstairs bedroom and bathroom. No. He just could not lay eyes on those for fear of bursting into tears.

They’d come so close…

No, actually – they had been _there_. After six months of pure torment when all he could think about was just gathering Crowley in his arms and telling him how wonderful he was and how lucky Aziraphale was to have him in his life they had actually had that for a brief time. _Less than two days…_

He could not look at that bed without seeing Crowley in the early hours of the morning, sleeping peacefully as if that’s where he belonged. And he did. He did belong there. In Aziraphale’s home and in his heart and just looking at the empty four poster bed made something twist in his gut and his heart feel like it had been ripped clean out.

The staff at the manor of course welcomed him with open arms but despite their best efforts there weren’t many things that they could make themselves useful with since all he did was either sit for hours on end staring blankly into space, refresh his email and all of his accounts relentlessly or simply refusing to get out of bed altogether. Not that he spent that time sleeping.

Aziraphale thought he maybe slept less than four hours a night and that was when he was getting any sleep at all.

The bookshop had been closed throughout the most part of that month and he only really considered opening it yet again when one of his favourite not-customers complained that she couldn’t get all of the reading that she envisioned getting done during her summer holidays if he kept at it like that. _Ah, right_. The students. This was awfully unfair towards them.

And then he remembered what Crowley had suggested and he realised that he couldn’t be so cruel to the poor students who already paid so much for their tuitions that they had no money left to spend on books. They were not at fault for his particular personal situation.

And Crowley was right. Maybe it would be best if he transformed it into a library.

It wasn’t as if he needed the money from the book sales anyway. And it might give him something to occupy his mind and keep him busy.

He had tried calling. He had tried emailing. Leaving comments on the stories. He had tried everything to no avail. He was running out of options short of actually scouting each and every street in Camden. Not that that was beneath him. He was actually giving it serious thought.

Anathema had tried her best to comfort him and never once mentioned the words “I told you so” despite Aziraphale actually wanting her to.

And then the last story updated.

He was in bed at the time, staring at the ceiling and upon hearing the email notification he casually glanced at the screen of his phone expecting one of the solicitors that Anathema had recommended to come back to him with some shady dealing or other going on at Empyrean. There have been quite a few of those as he was made aware by Mr. Sable after he started digging around for a bit into his contract and some of the other contracts that other authors signed up with them had provided.

Aziraphale had made it perfectly clear that he didn’t want a court case and he certainly didn’t want to put either himself or Empyrean in the public eye but he did need leverage if this all turned more sour than it had already.

Mr. Sable had gone through the all the files he could get his hands on concerning Empyrean and even some concerning the estate at large. Apparently the two of them were interconnected somehow and if he really want to fight tooth and nail he could actually own the publishing house. There had been a lot of legal talk that Aziraphale wasn’t sure he understood or cared about for that matter. He didn’t want to have anything to do with it anymore. He wanted out and he wanted never to hear about his cousins again, that was it.

At some point Mr. Sable inquired about his will and testament and Aziraphale thought that was altogether morbid as he told him he didn’t have one. Which apparently was something he should soon remedy if he didn’t want the manor, the family fortune and all the other goods the name came with, shares in Empyrean included, to pass over to the next of kin. Apparently the family solicitor had been particularly ticked off when all of the legal documents in his possession had been requested as he had ridden the gravy train that was representing the Fell family for decades now.

Aziraphale could honestly not care less about any of this but he politely assured his “new and improved” solicitors that he would think about it.

So it was an immense shock to notice that the email he just received was informing him that “The Glass Tower” had just updated. He nearly fell out of bed, feet tangled in the covers as he got up in a daze to reach his laptop.

It seemed to take forever for the old thing to power up and this was maybe the first time that Aziraphale was actually considering upgrading it to something out of this decade.

And then it took even more for the page to finally load.

His eyes darted over the words almost diagonally, not bothering to savour the text as he always did when he was reading. He didn’t look for typos, he didn’t sit back and fawn over the beauty of the descriptions and he most certainly didn’t make notes which was what he usually did when inspecting any of Crowley’s texts. He didn’t need to ponder over the character motivations because, as he kept on reading, he realised what those were well enough.

‘Oh…’ he whispered as he reached the last chapter. ‘Oh no…’

His vision started to blur and it took a moment for him to realise that was happening because he had started crying.

And that was how Anathema found him, half an hour later, when she knocked on his door and stepped inside the master bedroom - turned Aziraphale’s headquarters over the last three weeks.

Anathema had started visiting almost every other day and Jennings was more than grateful about that since none of the staff knew how to approach him or what to say and they had started being seriously worried.

He was openly sobbing, laptop open on the desk in front of him and face buried in his hands.

‘Az, honey, what happened? What’s wrong?’

It took a while for him to be able to say anything and even when he did it was no more than a whisper.

‘She… she took the deal…’

‘What deal, hun? You’re not making any sense,’ she asked as gently as possible as she sat down on one of the armrests of his chair and started caressing his hair.

He still hadn’t looked up yet.

‘The deal. She took it. And she left him all alone and heartbroken.’

‘Az, I don’t …’

He lifted a hand and pointed at the laptop without looking up.

‘Oh, Crow… um… the story.’

‘They were supposed to be together. He told me they would be. And what did I do? Poke fun at him about the power of love.’

‘I’m sure that you didn’t mea-’

‘And now it’s wrong. Everything is wrong.’

‘Honey, I know you’re hurting but -’

‘Me?’ he snapped and finally drew himself up, eyes glistening. ‘ _He_ ’s hurting,’ he pointed some more at the screen. ‘He’s been fighting this ending for months. The only reason he would ever write it is that he is absolutely heartbroken. And it’s all because of me. And I can’t… I can’t…’

He broke down sobbing again.

It took almost another full month for him to be at all responsive to outside stimuli.

Anathema had suggested that he should hire someone to help him out with the book logs that he had to manage before the big transformation and quite a lot of his first editions had already been moved to the manor during the refurbishment process.

There were tables that needed to be installed and honestly some of those books should never be touched by anyone other than him, and him wearing gloves at that, so moving them all seemed like the wisest option.

He met with a lot of people for the position if only to crowd his days and not think about things but three weeks later he thought he found the perfect candidate.

Probably for most folks he might have not looked the part, what with his inability to work with computers – but Aziraphale didn’t much care about that since he was pretty useless with computers himself. He also looked a wreck and none of his clothes seemed to actually fit him. And his glasses constantly fell down which was indeed a problem. But he loved the work and he respected Aziraphale’s “me moments” and he was a really hard worker. The only thing that was indeed worrying was that he completely stopped functioning whenever Anathema was around.

And then the months passed and everything was apparently going according to plan what with the bookshop being transformed and the solicitors doing their best and Crowley’s novel getting a spectacular piece of cover art. And yet everything was wrong. It was so wrong…

Aziraphale tried to quench those thoughts and told himself that after actually publishing the stories he would get to see Crowley again.

That was the only thing that kept him going at this point.

** Saturday, December 15th **

Soho. That was as much as Bea knew about where to find the fucker. That and that he had a bookshop. Too bad they couldn’t find any social media for that bookshop.

They did find a book event though with him as one of the main speakers. Something something history books something.

_He would definitely be history if they had it their way._

They looked up the place and it seemed to be a posh bookstore near St James. They knew for sure that it wasn’t Aziraphale’s own bookshop since Crowley had told them on many an occasion about how the man avoided getting people inside his bookshop at all costs. Maybe that was a path that could be pursued in fucking him over. Make a ton of fuss online about his wonderful shop. Create an online sensation. See how he liked that. But for now, plainly yelling their head off at him would suffice.

They reached the shop that did in fact look far more posh and far more crowded than they had thought it would be.

_Good._

Nothing like a public shaming if it was before posh people.

They could actually see him on a slightly elevated dais talking to the public seemingly without a care in the world.

_That son of a bitch!_

Bea entered the bookshop with murder in their eyes and addressed him with a snarl as soon as they were inside, cutting through the chatter and the people asking questions.

‘You pathetic excuse for a man!’

Half of the heads in the audience turned towards them. Aziraphale looked at them with wide eyes only for a couple of seconds before he… _sighed in relief?_

_What?_

And then they threw the microphone on the ground and dashed their way in such an uncharacteristic move that everyone was now eyeing them and some people had already pulled out their phones and started filming.

‘Oh, my dear I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you!’ he exclaimed and nearly hugged them but something in Bea’s expression made him think twice about it.

‘Happy are you? After you fucked Crowley over like that? He has been a hot mess because of you!’

‘I’ve been trying to get a hold of him for months!’

‘To what? Get another shag out of it? You know, I actually liked you. And I honestly thought that you liked him. That you’d be good for him. He fucking deserves it! He deserves the sun and the moon, that man!’

‘I do! I mean I hope so. I mean… I love him.’

‘You _WHAT_?’

‘And he does. He does deserve everything. Oh, I messed up so bad, didn’t I?’

‘Yeah. I would say lying to him about publishing his stories is a pretty shit way to show your love. You know that’s the one thing he can’t stand for.’

‘I didn’t lie!’

Bea threw him a murderous glance.

‘I mean… I did. Oh good Lord… I only wanted it to be a surprise.’

‘What now?’

‘For his birthday. I had heard back from the publishers two weeks before but I thought what’s three weeks in the grand scheme of things. I had this whole thing planned. The book deal, the Royal Observatory, I… I thought I’d surprise him for... for his…’

Bea closed their eyes and sighed deeply.

_This was unheard of before levels of stupidity._

‘Now I know that Crowley would never lie to me and he distinctly told me there was no book deal.’

‘Yes, with Empyrean. But he had one with Nine Circles. The only reason I wanted to get him one with Empyrean was because of the book.’

‘What book?’

‘The witch and the wizard. Glass Tower? It was so long that it was novel length. I didn’t want it dealt with by someone who did short stories. And there are many things Empyrean doesn’t do but poor novel publicity is not one of them. They have the best media outreach.’

‘Okay then so where is this famous book, then?’

Aziraphale turned around and waved at a young bloke who seemed seriously out of his depth who nearly lost his glasses twice rushing over. Then he whispered something into his ear and mere seconds later the boy was back and extending a book towards them.

They grabbed at it so forcefully that he flinched and dropped his notebook.

And then they read the cover.

**_Faeriedance_ **

_A compendium of short stories_

_By Anthony J. Crowley_

_Foreword by A.Z. Fell_

_Oh bugger them for a lark._

The people in the bookshop were still filming the interaction since this seemed like quality Youtube material right here, especially if the small and angry looking person threw another fit.

But Bea could not give less of a shit about that at the moment as they opened the book and started perusing.

_They’d have to ask about the J later._

‘So you went and published it behind his back, hmm?’

‘My dear, you have to understand… I tried reaching him for months. I tried texting and calling… I think he might have changed his number…’

‘No shit, Sherlock.’

‘And then I tried emailing him. I think I must know Camden by heart by now seeing how much time I spent just walking around hoping I would bump into him. And he deleted all his stories… all of his accounts.’

‘Yeah, because of you, you wanker.’

‘I know. I just thought that if I get it published he’d see it and maybe we could… oh… I don’t know… talk.’

‘Talk?’ Bea offered while not paying him any attention as they perused the text of the preface.

‘Anything really. He deserved to have his stories published even if he never wants to talk with me again. And of course, all the royalties,’ Aziraphale nearly slapped his forehead as he remembered that “tiny” aspect. ‘My friend Anathema is the one who actually dealt with the publishers since I was in a bit of a bind, contractually speaking, but I could give you her number. She will transfer all the money instantly.’

‘Money?’ Bea continued to read.

‘Oh, quite a lot of them, actually. They’re already doing a reprint. Twenty thousand copies. The book was a huge success.’

Aziraphale had no idea how he was standing here and talking about reprints and royalties and everything else when all he wanted to do was just know if Crowley was alright. _Of course he wasn’t_ , judging by Bea’s earlier comment. And he was the only one to blame yet here he was talking about revenue. _For crying out loud…_

‘Is this true?’ Bea finally asked as they snapped the book shut.

‘Is what true?’

‘What you’re saying here. Kissing his arse like that. All of them flowery compliments. Do you really believe that?’

‘I do! Of course I do!’

‘You’re not just bullshitting him for a piece of hot arse? ‘Cause that’s what he seems to think.’

‘I… no, never! I do love him, you have to believe me! Yes, _alright_ , he is a very beautiful man. But he is also kind and funny and curious about so many things. He is so passionate and invested in everything he sets his mind on. And he is incredibly smart.’

‘Doesn’t strike me as particularly smart, right now,’ Bea sighed and started rubbing the bridge of their nose. But it was obvious that they believed him at least, so he counted that as a huge win.

‘Could I have his new number? Please. I just want to make this right. And if he doesn’t want to talk with me afterwards then that’s… that’s alright. But I’d at least hear his voice one last time.’

‘No, you can’t have his number,’ Bea scoffed and Aziraphale looked like he’d been all but slapped. ‘But I’ll give him yours,’ they continued and pulled out their phone out of one of their many jacket pockets and handed it to him. ‘He’s the one that has to call you if he wants to. He deserves to have a say in this.’

‘He does, he absolutely does,’ Aziraphale nodded furiously and took the phone, fingers trembling as he typed his number.

‘You are both such huge morons, you know that, right?’

‘I think…’

‘No no – you don’t. Absolutely no thought process has been going on through either of your heads. I will yell at him later, rest assured. But for now,’ Bea cleared their throat and proceeded in screaming their head off.

‘Miss me with that “if he never wants to talk with me again it’s fine” bullshit. It’s not fine and you know it! Can you fucking be honest for once? _Can you_? Cause we all know what happened when you weren’t. And how the _fucking hell_ did you even take a look at that complete shitshow of a person and thought that lying to him was an option?’

‘I… his birth–’

‘I swear I’ll rip you a new one if you ever mention his birthday again! Fuck his _fucking_ birthday!’ Bea started advancing on him so Aziraphale had to take a step back and then another, gulping all the while.

More than half of the people in attendance were filming the whole interaction by now.

‘You never lie to Crowley, no matter your stupid reasons. You hear me?’

Aziraphale nodded frantically.

‘I mean it. I am doing you a huge favour by just telling him about this. And if he wants to take you back then fine, that’s on him, he’s a grown-arse man, he can make his own decisions no matter how stupid they are. But if you ever, and I mean EVER lie to him again I will hurt you. I will find out where you live and I will hurt you. I will break every bone in your body, so help me…’

The scrawny looking bloke with the disproportionate pair of glasses gave a nervous bark of laughter but Bea just levelled him with their gaze.

‘Oh, you think I’m kidding? There is nothing I would not do for that man. He is a monumental idiot but he is my monumental idiot and I will straight up murder anyone who hurts him,’ they poked Aziraphale with the book in their hand and then muttered to themself ‘So help me, I can’t believe the fucker found someone as stupid as he is…’

Aziraphale was far too rattled by the events unfolding, not to mentioned just terrified of Crowley’s diminutive friend to actually comment on the last remark and it was just as well since they seem to be deciding on something.

‘Okay, fine. I’ll talk to him. Where can he find you?’

‘The bookshop,’ he blurted out almost instantly. ‘I’ll head there straight away. I… I’ll wait for him there for however long. Won’t leave it for days. Weeks. I’ll just wait.’

‘God fucking damnit,’ Bea sighed some more. ‘Fine. And you’ll be going there now?’

‘Yes. Directly. I promise.’

‘Fine. You’d better name your fucking first kid after me for this,’ they shook their head in defeat and headed for the door. The phones followed their every move.

‘Bookshop, yes?’ they called from the entrance.

‘Yes. I promise.’

They waved a hand in dismissal and left the shop and Aziraphale nearly stumbled on his feet.

 _Oh, good Lord. Could it finally happen?_ Could he finally get to talk to Crowley after all these months? Well, that was if Crowley ever wanted to talk to him. But still, for the first time in months he had hope. _And wasn’t that just grand?_

He was so beside himself with giddiness that he never even noticed the two figures lurking on the opposite sidewalk staring at the shop intensely.

One of them at one point lit up a cigarette. The other one fished his phone out of his pocket and waited for instructions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I just rehash the Mike/Liggy scene from the show? Oh my! I did, didn't I?


	25. ...there was a final understanding...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our two dim-witted heroes finally start taking some steps to reunite with each other.  
> What could possibly go wrong? :O

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose), you are a blessing and I will never stop singing you praises, you brilliant, brilliant woman, you! ❤️❤️❤️

** Saturday, December 15th **

‘Why are you like this?’

‘I don’t… huh?’

‘Why. Are you. Like this? The man told me he’s been trying to contact you for months. Months, Crowley! All you told me was that he treated you like a cheap whore. Would someone who made such an effort to get to you actually do that?’

‘I dunno…’

‘No, they most definitely would not, you tosser!’ Bea waved their arms about not even bothering to try and keep still as they paced the flat without any proper destination in mind.

‘When I laid eyes on him I wanted to rip his arms clean off so imagine my surprise when he told me his side of his story. That you never even tried to listen to what he had to say. I mean… for fuck’s sake, Crowley!’

‘But his cousin said th -’

‘What, that bell end? Who gives a shit? You know he’s a cunt. You’ve complained about him sooo many times.’

‘But he’s so… well…him, I guess? And I’m me and…’

‘Read the sodding foreword and shut up before I straight up murder you. You twat.’

Crowley let his fingers linger over the letters on the cover again for a couple of seconds before opening the book and starting reading.

_I want to start by saying that Anthony Crowley is an exceptional writer and an amazing human being. One of the best people I have had the pleasure of ever meeting._

_His stories paint a vivid tapestry of the human psyche despite or maybe aided by his colourful fantastical depictions and the dream-like quality of the worlds the action takes place in._

_He has an uncommon understanding of the human nature that he explores in all of his stories making us care about all of the characters portrayed there and making us deeply relate to them and their struggles._

He lifted his eyes and looked at Bea who was standing across the room from him, nearly fuming. He’d obviously get no mercy on that front so he went back to skimming through the pages.

_… you’ll laugh alongside the main protagonists when they manage to trick everyone in their home town; you’ll mourn their losses when they are betrayed; you will be riveted by the oh so many wonderful landscapes and intriguing people they meet along the way; and sit on the edge of your seat throughout._

_But, first and foremost, you will relate to the plethora of brilliant characters Anthony Crowley puts to paper. He does not simply write them, and they are not mere characters. They are as real as you and me and that is because of his unprecedented talent of seeing deep into people’s hearts and painting them exactly as they are. It comes from the way he approaches storytelling, with the unbridled joy of a child and the wisdom of a scholar. But, more than anything, with the honesty that we should all look for deep inside. That part of us that makes us true to ourselves. That makes us human. And that is his biggest achievement of all._

‘Ngk…’

‘Keep reading.’

‘I just can’t, Bee. This is all too much.’

‘Keep. Reading.’

He felt a tear trickle down his cheek and moved the book out of the way, not wanting to endanger such precious words in any way.

_…he is the kindest, most imaginative person I know. He is very near and dear to me and, dare I say, my best friend. Or at least he was until I managed to do wrong by him and lose the privilege of his company entirely._

_I have first had the pleasure of meeting him through his stories and I count myself a lucky man to have been his friend if only for a very short while._

_I do very much hope that he finds it in his heart to forgive eventually, but even if he does not, I could never hold that against him._

_I hope his works bring you the same immense joy the have brought me. Actually, I do not hope. I know they will._

‘How is this… I… I mean he… oh fuck, Bee!’

‘Mhm.’

He placed the book down gingerly on the couch next to him but his fingers couldn’t stop touching it. He felt like if he would take his hand away from the sharp edges and the embossed letters everything would disappear into dust and he would wake up to see it was just dream. He felt grounded looking at it. Seeing his name on it. Seeing Aziraphale’s name on it. It was heart-warming and heart-breaking at the same time.

He couldn’t believe this.

_No. This wasn’t real, this was far too good to be real. Wasn’t it?_

‘Bee. He says that… that…’ he lifted his eyes to meet theirs.

They sighed.

‘You dumb, _dumb_ twat!’

Crowley could not argue with that. Not even a little bit.

He had gone and believed whatever that shitstain of a person that Gabriel was had said without even questioning. Didn’t he always do that? Believe the worst about himself? But this time he’d gone and done it, didn’t he? He had believed the worst about Aziraphale and that was simply unforgivable. He had no idea how he could ever face the angel again, never mind begin to excuse his poor behaviour.

‘I fucked up,’ he said on an even tone, staring right through Bea and probably through the far-off wall and into the distance.

‘Yeah. You did. Big time.’

He could only nod as Bea started going off at him, not that they weren’t completely right in doing so. He deserved the beratement of a lifetime.

At some point they stopped and were looking at him with an expression that vaguely conveyed they were expecting an answer out of him.

‘Mhm?’

‘I said, what are you going to do to fix it?’

‘I don’t think I can. I was such a…’

‘Twat? Yeah, we’ve already covered that. So? Just be less of a twat.’

‘But what does he even think of me, right now? He must hate me. Oh fuck, I’ve been so stupid!’

‘No arguments there. Just go and talk to him, for Satan’s sake!’

‘I don’t think he’ll want to see me, Bee.’

‘For fuck…Satan…Someone’s sake, just fucking go and talk to him! He loves you, you wanker!’

‘He loves me?’ Crowley’s gaze snapped immediately from the cup rings that were by now an inherent part of the coffee table itself to search Bea’s expression.

‘Yes, he does! What do you think this has all been about? He straight up told me, if the grand gestures and romantic whatnots were not clue enough for you by themselves.’

‘He loves me.’

‘Yeah. Can’t say I get why, to be honest. I don’t know why I put up with you more than half of the time.’

Crowley sprang to his feet and covered the distance between him and Bea in three wide steps, grabbing them by the shoulders.

‘He loves me!’

‘Yeah, you tosser. I just said that mmpph-’

Their remark was cut short by Crowley picking them up as if they weighted nothing and twirling about for a minute, Bea pressed closely to his chest, no air left in their lungs because of the tight hug.

‘Put me down right now!’ they growled at him but they fought their hardest against their lips curling up ever so slightly.

Crowley did indeed put them down and continued his twirl alone until he bumped into the couch.

‘I have to go see him, right?’

‘Your powers of deduction never cease to amaze,’ Bea remarked and that smile was harder and harder to fight.

They hadn’t seen Crowley this chipper in months. They liked this look on him.

‘Where’d’you meet him?’

‘This book something or other event. But he said that he’ll wait for you in his bookshop.’

‘He said that? Oh, Bee! Isn’t he an angel?’

‘Look who’s suddenly singing to a different tune. I have his number. Type it down, will you?’

‘Can’t. Phone’s dead.’

‘Then wait for your phone to charge and then type it down.’

‘What? I’m not waiting for that. I’m going there right now.’

‘Fine. Suit yourself. At least stop by Iris’ and pick up something nice for him. He at least deserves a pretty flower after this whole shitshow.’

‘Oh yes, flowers. Right,’ he started patting his pockets.

‘Here, take my wallet, you utter disaster.’

‘Okay. Okay. So. Money. Yes, check. Um…what else….’

‘Iris. Flowers.’

‘Flowers.’

‘Coat?’ they suggested helpfully.

‘Coat, yes.’

But despite going through the motions he still seemed glued to the floor in the middle of their living room, having a not at all elucidating discussion with himself about what else he was missing.

Bea punched him in the shoulder.

‘Now go. Move your stupid arse and go already!’

‘Yes, right! Going!’

He circled the couch a couple of times apparently in search of something.

‘I should… should I take a shower?’ he asked already completely dressed, winter coat and all.

‘Didn’t you hog the shower this morning?’

‘Yes. Right. Did that. Maybe a change of clothes?’ he pondered.

Bea looked him up and down with a raised eyebrow and they could swear they would murder this man one day.

‘Crowley?’

‘Mhm?’ he hummed as he perused the pile of clothes that resided on one of the armrests of the couch while one of his feet was doing a tap-dancing number, albeit not one that would win him any prizes.

‘I am going to say this for the last time,’ they drew a deep breath and braced themself, closed eyes over steepled fingers lightly tapping their nose. ‘But get the hell out of my house and go get your fucking angel already!’

‘Going! I’m going!’ he grabbed his sunglasses off the coffee table and the keys from one of those garish bowls that Dana had the pleasure of bringing home from various fairs, the more horrible-looking the better that took centre-stage on the sideboard. Then he seemed to reconsider his movements and then gave Bea a side hug paired up with a very loud kiss on the forehead before jogging out the flat and up the stairs.

Bea rolled their eyes and mentally counted to ten.

The door opened again but they didn’t even glance at it.

‘Shoes. Mustn’t forget shoes.’

And then he was off again.

 _Satan help them_ , their best friend was a complete and utter moron.

\---

Aziraphale was ambushed by a sea of hardcore fans as soon as Bea left the small shop.

He didn’t particularly want to deal with them right now. But his only other option was dealing with Sandra, the owner of the shop who was standing at the back of the mob, arms crossed over her chest and a foot tapping like there was no tomorrow while providing Aziraphale with one of the most well executed stink-eyes he had ever seen.

_Ah, they had managed to botch the whole event, hadn’t they?_

He would of course completely give up on any financial remuneration but somehow he thought it was more than that as she probably would lose a lot of money out of the whole… whatever it was that had just happened.

_Between a rock and a hard place, as they said…_

The fans were going absolutely crazy about his love confession and the fact that a very short very angry-looking person had thrown a fit at a book event.

Things like these didn’t much happen in the fast-paced world of historical fiction. Or at least not outside the pages of a book.

More than a dozen of them had already updated the whole thing on their various social media accounts and it was getting quite the traction.

Newton would later convey that it even started trending on Twitter.

Well, Aziraphale knew some of those words, but he presumed that not in the particular context that Newt had presented.

And speaking about Newt, well, the boy could go and talk to Sandra while he tried to edge his way out of this whole mess. Distract her, more like, but Aziraphale couldn’t be bothered by semantics right now.

He motioned Newt over and whispered something into his ear before turning his attention back to the fans that were asking him ten questions all at once.

Who knew people who liked to spend their Saturday evenings reading about Dunkirk or Verdun would be such romantics at heart?

He must have been asked if this mysterious person was “the love of his life” a couple of times. If he planned on retiring now that he got his happily ever after a couple more. Most of them just wanted to know who this person was and had started looking him up on the internet. Searches which Aziraphale knew would lead them to the newly published book of tales. He only hoped that it would increase the number of copies it sold.

So, with a tight lipped smile here and an “I couldn’t possibly comment” there, he began the arduous voyage out of the shop, giving away as little information as possible while also keeping an eye on Newt to make sure that Sandra was distracted enough for him to make his escape unnoticed.

As soon as he reached the door he darted out, catching Newt’s obviously distressed expression for just a second before making a – what Aziraphale would qualify as a "run for it" while everyone else would say was more of a "brisk walk for it".

After all there was a long walk back to Soho and Aziraphale never took the Tube if he could help it.

\---

Crowley pressed the bouquet to his face and inhaled deeply.

Iris always knew what he was looking for even when he himself did not. Maybe it was the besotted look on his face that had betrayed him or maybe Bee had just called her up to tell her that he’ll be swinging by.

_Anyway. It was absolute perfection._

And he looked… _presentable_ , he thought as he inspected his reflection in a nearby café window.

He patted his pockets looking for a chapstick and found Bea’s wallet instead.

Iris had of course insisted that he didn’t have to pay for the flowers so he didn’t even need the wallet in the first place apparently. But then a thought started forming in his mind.

Bea had an Oyster card. A fully functioning Oyster card that was not maxed out or used to open the door when the lock sticked.

_What if he took the tube and for once didn’t spend more than forty minutes on foot getting there, arriving all red in the face and out of breath?_

_Well_ , he expected he would be very _very_ red in the face and, if it all went well, soon to be out of breath too, but that was for later.

 _Yeah_ , he would indulge in the benefits of public transportation.

He popped down Camden Town station and got on the Northern Line which he rarely used despite being his direct link to Soho.

The train was mostly empty but Crowley was too hyped to even consider sitting down for fear of vibrating out of his skin.

By the time the train pulled in at Tottenham Court Road the few other people in the carriage were giving him weird looks as he had not managed to stand still for more than a second throughout the whole ride.

He must have climbed up the escalator three steps at a time to the great displeasure of various tourists who just wanted to sit back and let the contraption do the work for them.

And then, as he got out of the station and headed towards the bookshop, he startled even himself as he started humming a cheery tune.

Aziraphale loved him. That was all that mattered. Aziraphale had published his book. Aziraphale had said all those nice words about him.

He would profess his undying love for the angel. He would probably get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness for acting – as Bea had put it – like a complete twat.

He would spend the rest of his days asking for forgiveness if need be.

The rest of his days trying to prove to the angel how much he loved him and how much the angel meant to him and they would be happy together.

And everything would be good.

There seemed to be a general hubbub that he hadn’t been aware of before. Or maybe it was just how the neighbourhood had evolved during the last months. He didn’t seem to remember it ever being so loud before but then again he hadn’t set foot in Soho for the last six months.

_Anyway, everything would…_

Something was wrong. Very wrong. He turned around the corner and was met with four fire engines. And quite a lot of fire in general.

_Oh no…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has got to be what, like the 10th cliffhanger in this bad boi?  
> Please do not murder me in my sleep. I only take SOME pleasure in toying with you people.  
> All's well that ends well.


	26. ...there was a mighty fire...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um... what it says on the tin, I guess?
> 
> CW - oh, my lord, so many of them: fire; injury; head trauma; hospitals; hospital-related tech; medical induced comma; skin grafts (mentioned); panic attacks; poor coping mechanisms; misgendering; quite a lot of angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry to post this earlier than usual but this fic always helps me get over the brainweasels and I am in dire need of that. That being said, the next chapter is going to be posted as usual on a Thursday so - again - sorry for the extra long wait period in between the two of them

** Saturday, December 15th **

‘Angel! Angel!’

_No. No no no no no. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real._

Aziraphale was alright. He _had_ to be alright.

The scene beforehand did not exactly paint that particular picture.

The whole street was closed up and the fire engines were posted just in front of what had used to be… no…not _used to_. He couldn’t think like that. He just couldn’t.

Someone was screaming something at him. He didn’t hear what.

Someone else made a grab at one of his hands. He didn’t let that bother him either as he dropped the flowers on the ground and let whoever was holding on to his sleeve have his coat completely.

The next thing he knew he was inside, surrounded by flames on all sides.

He could hear some more screaming but none of that mattered.

He ran upstairs kicking down doors all the while.

_No._

_This wasn’t happening._

_This was just all a horrible nightmare._

‘ANGEL!’

The smoke was getting to him and he was gradually losing his voice but he didn’t let that impede him from screaming his lungs out some more.

‘Angel! Angel, please! I’m sorry! This is all my fault. I never meant any of it! Angel, please, please be safe!’

It got gradually harder and harder to breathe but he didn’t pay that any mind as he made his way downstairs again.

Maybe Aziraphale was in the kitchen or the storage space and something was blocking the way out. He would pick whatever that was apart and save the angel. He would do that even if it was the last thing he did. He owed him that much after completely shitting on his character like that without even thinking twice about it.

‘Hold tight, angel! I’m coming for you, I promise!’

He stumbled down the stairs almost losing his footing twice but he wasn’t put out by this. He needed to find Aziraphale and get him out of here if it was the last thing he did.

_And oh god! His books!_

He didn’t have time to focus on that right now so he tried his best not to feel an immense sadness as he saw all of those rows of prime first editions.

But that was for later. Now he just had to find Aziraphale.

He pushed at the door to the storage but it wouldn’t budge. The kitchen door either.

_No no no. This wasn’t happening. It was just too much._

He ventured back to the front of the bookshop in a daze. He needed something to pry them open. A crowbar of sorts. Anything.

_Oh. The fireplace poker. That should do._

His fingers wrapped around it and he nearly bit his tongue clean off at the intense pain. He could almost hear the skin on his palm sizzling.

But that too was for later.

‘You impossible man, what have you done,’ he muttered to himself through wheezing breaths.

It was getting more and more difficult to breathe and each breath was marked by a bough of violent coughing.

By now the first floor of the bookshop was in flames too and the smoke was too thick to be able to see where he was actually going.

He narrowly avoided a large piece of the bannister falling on him and then stumbled a bit on unsteady feet.

_Why was everything so dark all of a sudden?_

He swore he could hear a window break but his senses were overwhelmed at the moment.

He didn’t realise if he could smell or taste the smoke or both. His vision was swimming and he had to keep his eyes closed most of the time on account of them tearing up so much they weren’t of much use even when properly open. And his feet refused to move.

He could faintly feel something was terribly wrong with one of his hands but his mind couldn’t focus on that.

His mind could only focus on one thing.

If he would have stayed put that dratted morning none of this would have happened. If only he would have heard Aziraphale out like the angel had pleaded and begged with tears in his eyes. If only he would have told him he loved him…

He could barely keep himself up.

He knew what would happen next, he wasn’t stupid.

People didn’t run inside burning buildings and survive.

He could already feel a haze descending and he never even got to tell the angel that one thing.

‘Aziraphale,’ he managed in a broken raw voice as he felt his throat being nearly ripped apart.

‘I…’

And then he felt pain explode at the back of his skull and the last thing he heard was a voice that sounded vaguely familiar.

\---

‘Now why’d’ya go and do that for?’

‘Are you mental? He would have recognised us. And I don’t know about you but I don’t actually want to serve time for this.’

‘What’s the slick bastard even doing here in the first place? And where’s the fat one?’

‘I don’t know but I’m not sitting around to find out. That bitch can shove her money where the sun don’t shine. I am not going to jail over this.’

‘Do you think I killed him?’

There were a couple of loud noises from the entrance.

‘Does it matter? Now come on!’

‘Wha? Where?’

‘There’s a skylight upstairs. And I don’t want to be here when the fire squad comes in. Get a move on!’

\---

Aziraphale was spending his sweet time picking the most beautiful roses he could find. Deep red and in full bloom. He knew it to be cliché but he could not care less. They have both danced around the issue for long enough and he needed to make his intentions crystal clear.

He had already told Bea that he loved Crowley and, judging by what little he knew of them from that short interaction, then they would have already told Crowley that.

He would have preferred to be the first to tell him but he was done with this nonsense. He was neither a blushing teenager nor a bashful damsel from one of those romance novels that sold a dime a dozen.

He needed to act like an adult. And to actually make his intentions known with words this time.

The last six months had been pure torture.

He barely slept more than a couple of hours a night and, whenever he did, he only dreamt of Crowley.

Of his long scarlet hair that felt like silk in between his fingers. Of the sounds he made when Aziraphle tugged at it lightly. Of the blissed out look he had after driven to completion.

Of the way he looked while he slept, so perfectly at ease as if he would bask in his presence forever.

The way his long and delicate fingers felt on his skin, his touch searing hot but altogether perfect.

He also thought of the little smiles Crowley directed at him when he thought he wasn’t looking.

The little gestures of affection he had witnessed without putting two and two together and was now cursing himself for his complete pig-headedness.

How Crowley always opened the car door for him. How he let him step first inside any restaurant. How he drew the chair back for him when they were to be sat at a table. How he went on long searches every Sunday at flea markets just so he could come back with an old book that he would casually gift Aziraphale as if it was no big thing. How he prepared him the perfect tea or cocoa when he was nose deep in a book. Crowley didn’t even drink those things but he had examined the way Aziraphale went at it and learned to do it too.

 _The flowers. Oh god. All of the flowers_. Despite that impossible man denying even knowing about the language of flowers. _As if he wasn’t obvious enough._

Aziraphale buried his nose into one of the roses and inhaled deeply.

He remembered the way he talked with the children as if they were his equals. How he explained stuff without never once snapping at them or thinking it beneath him. How he completely changed his stories so that they would fit their world view.

How he had helped Tracy and how he had protected Bea and how he always had a kind word to say97.

He truly was the kindest and nicest person that Aziraphale had ever had the pleasure of knowing. Not to mention most considerate and imaginative and intelligent and… well, beautiful was putting it mildly.

He wasn’t even thinking about that impossible body that was something out of a painting altogether. Or the hair or those sharp cheekbones or those ethereal eyes. He was beautiful as a whole. As a person.

And Aziraphale loved him.

And he would tell him.

This afternoon in fact.

No more dilly- dallying or beating about the bush.

After having picked almost two dozen roses and made the appropriate small talk with the lady at the till, as it was only proper, Aziraphale stepped outside the flower shop and drew a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the beginning of the rest of his life.

\---

Anathema was fiddling with the phone.

She knew something bad was about to happen. She just knew it.

Along the years a lot of people had looked at her in a funny way whenever she would declare something like this and then gather together and whisper things behind her back. But never too loudly and never for too long. You tended not to do that about someone who’s net worth was four billion dollars.

But she had never been wrong about things. Not once.

And she had had the ghastliest of dreams.

She couldn’t make heads or tails of it. She usually couldn’t. It was only after the events took place that she realised what her dreams had been about fully.

But she knew that she had woken up in a daze and covered in sweat.

There had been screams and flames and everything was horribly wrong.

That was the reason she had missed Aziraphale’s book signing.

She never missed a single one. Made a point out of it actually since she knew how much he hated them and wanted to be there as a soothing presence by his side. But this time she just couldn’t.

It had taken her more than half an hour to get her heartbeat in check and even longer still to be able to properly get out of bed.

And she was a proper mess. She could never make an appearance in public like that and especially not to a book signing where people were supposed to keep still and smile politely and be proper and, KEEP STILL.

She was doing anything but that, circling the large living room in her penthouse in NeoBankside over and over and not knowing what to do.

At some point she called Newt.

‘Hey, I just wanted to check on Aziraphale,’ she tried her best not to sound too out of breath.

‘Um… he’s fine. I think. He has been asking about you.’

‘Horrible headache, can’t make it to this one, sorry,’ she blurted out.

‘Um… okay. I’ll tell him. Are you sure you are alright?’

‘Yeah. Fine. Listen. Are there any sprinklers where you are?’

‘Sprinklers?’

‘Yeah. You know, fire hazard that it is and all.’

‘I… guess? I’ll check.’

‘Please.’

There was a soft click as if the phone had been placed down on a table and then a pause.

The pause went on for longer than she hoped for.

‘Yeah. There’s apparently a very state of the art inert gas installation. Yeah, I got it, thanks. Yeah. Very interesting. Thank you. Excuse me.’

There was more shuffling about.

‘Sorry about that. I just listened to ten minutes of very in-depth descriptions about the quality of their fire prevention system.’

‘Huh.’

‘Is something wrong?’

‘I… I had a dream last night.’

‘Oh no. Is it serious?’

Out of all the people she had met so far other then her parents and at times98 no one ever gave two shits about her dreams.

Not to mention that Newt was kinda cute in his dorky way. _Not the perfect time for that._

‘I guess maybe I was wrong. Message me if anything happens, yes?’

‘Yeah, of course. Whatever you say. I really need to go. We have finished setting up. I’ll text you, yes?’

‘Thanks, Newt, you’re a life saviour.’

She could swear she heard a lot of bumbling nonsense at the other end but the phone was already thrown on the couch and she was pacing again.

That had been two hours ago.

In the meantime Newt had indeed called and had told her that a rather short and angry looking person had stormed the book signing and caused a massive scene.

She had a fair idea who that person was and she knew better than to call Aziraphale at that precise moment so she called Newt again.

‘What happened. Lay it on me. In minute detail, please.’

So Newt explained the whole ordeal while also not being very sure exactly what happened. Apparently someone loved Aziraphale and Aziraphale loved them back. _Which was a good thing, right? Right?_

Anathema paused and bit her lip.

‘This isn’t right.’

‘What is?’

‘This isn’t what I saw. Newt, I need you to do me a solid.’

‘Sure. Whatever… um… whatever you want.’

‘I need you to stay with him _all_ day. No matter what he says or what he plans on doing. I need eyes on him.’

‘I’m pretty sure he wants to profess his undying love to someone. He was muttering something about flowers earlier.’

‘Okay, that’s fine and dandy. But I need you to go with him. Meet you both at the bookshop later, yes?’

‘Of course.’

‘And Newt?’

‘Hmm?’

‘You’re a sweetheart.’

‘I… _what_?’

With that he heard a click and the line went dead.

 _So that had been a thing_ , he mused as he saw Aziraphale leave the bookshop and made a dart after him. Sandra screaming after him didn't even register.

\---

Aziraphale was walking at a brisk pace, still trying to escape Newt who was trailing after him for one reason or other.

‘My boy, I must insist that you go home. What I am planning on doing next doesn’t need an audience.’

‘Yes, I gathered. But Anathema called and said she has a bad feeling about what would happen to you today and that I shouldn’t leave you out of my sight.’

‘I am the one paying your salary.’

‘You are, but Anathema is far scarier.’

Aziraphale nodded slightly. _He did have a point._

‘Alright, fine. But as soon as we are at the bookshop you go home,’ he tried using a strict tone and missed it by a mile.

They were just turning the corner two streets over when they noticed there was an impressive amount of hubbub.

For once there were quite a lot of people milling about which was usual for Soho, but right now they seemed to be more static than usual.

Then there were the sounds. Aziraphale was certain he could hear a fire engine or an ambulance or something and the sounds were not apparently going away anytime soon.

As soon as they passed the next corner the ambulance sped past them and Aziraphale noticed the four fire engines, the mob gathered around and… the bookshop. Burning.

‘Oh no!’ Newt managed to whisper just as soon as his phone went off.

He pressed the green icon and, with a trembling hand, directed it to his ear, being at a loss of words.

‘Newt!’ Anathema nearly yelled in the mouthpiece, quite clearly out of breath, ‘under no circumstances are you to let him enter the -’

‘Bookshop, yes. The chances for that are rather limited.’

‘Shit! Okay, stay put I’m almost there.’

‘Mhm,’ he managed in response and dropped his phone back into his pocket.

Aziraphale was nowhere to be seen.

_Shit._

After frantically scouting the crowd for a couple of minutes he spotted him at the front of the mob of people arguing quite vehemently with one of the firefighters.

‘Sir, I must respectfully ask you to step back.’

‘You do not understand! That is _MY_ bookshop!’

‘Well, be that as it may, sir -’

‘You said it was your bookshop?’

The police had appeared at some point or other and now two officers were eyeing Aziraphale with interest.

‘Yes and I must ask you to -’

‘Sir, we need you to answer a couple of questions. Nothing to worry about, just routine stuff.’

‘But… my shop….’

‘I am sure those brave lads will do the best they can,’ one of the officers, a tall and balding man in his mid fifties said and nodded at the firemen.

The other one, a petite dark-skinned woman threw him a murderous look and guided Aziraphale to the side with a friendly and encouraging look on her face.

‘What my colleague not so diplomatically tries to say is that they will do their best to salvage as much as they can and I am sure they are indeed trying their best. Nothing any of us can do but wait.’

Aziraphale nodded, too stunned to be able to properly react.

He also tried his hardest to tune out all of the chit-chat he heard all around, quite a lot of people doing quite a lot of speculating.

‘Sir, I am PC Chopra and this is my colleague, PC Andrews. We just want to establish a few things, is that alright?’

Aziraphale nodded and he sat down on the steps of the coffee shop next door whereupon he was instantly recognised by the owner. He was, after all, one of his most prized customers.

And then he was offered a cup of tea.

The two police officers were given one as well, despite their many objections.

Quite a lot of people wanted to talk to them as first-hand witnesses so they indulged them for a bit, while they were still eyeing Aziraphale who was, in turn, eyeing the teacup and trembling slightly.

Newt had taken the bouquet away from him for the moment.

At some point PC Chopra smiled politely at a couple of old ladies who spoke a lot without actually saying anything of import and approached Aziraphale, kneeling in front of him with a reassuring smile on her face.

‘Sir, you claim to be the owner of this establishment?’

Aziraphale nodded, eyes still on the cup of tea.

‘Would you mind telling me your name.’

‘Aziraphale Fell.’

‘How do you, um…. How do you spell that?’

‘Let me,’ Newt extended a hand, pointing at her little notebook.

‘And you are?’

‘Newton Pulsifer. I’m his assistant. Been working here for the last two months.’

PC Chopra extended her notebook and instructed him to jot down both names since it was obvious he was far more receptive than the actual owner was at the moment.

‘And where were you at the time the fire started?’ PC Andrews addressed them with a raised eyebrow.

‘Well, we would need to know when it started to be able to answer that, wouldn’t we?’ Newt snapped in a completely uncharacteristic move. He was at wits end and seeing Aziraphale like that did not help. Nor did the thought that he might be out of a job. Or the fact that Anathema might swoop in and kill everyone on the block.

‘Now listen here, young man -’ PC Andrews pointed a finger at him but was quickly appeased by PC Chopra.

‘It started an hour ago, according to some of the witnesses.’

‘We were at a book signing in Camden. About a hundred people can confirm that. There was also a bit of a scene right at the end so we were very conspicuous. Then we stopped at a flower shop on the way and just got here when you started talking to him. I’m sorry he’s like this but this is his life’s work. Seeing it go in flames like that… I don’t think you’ll get much out of him,’ he whispered the last part.

‘We still need to ask the questions,’ PC Chopra smiled a sad smile.

‘Did you have any fire prevention system put in place?’

‘Water would damage the books,’ Aziraphale managed, shivering even harder.

‘Yes but there’s also -’

‘Inert gas installations. I know everything about those,’ Newt fought back a shiver.

‘And do you have any insurance for the shop?’ PC Andrews butted in.

That was the moment Anathema chose to turn up causing quite the fuss since people did not let her through as soon as she hoped to be let through.

‘Let me pass! Jeez, lady! Yeah up yours too! Aziraphale, are you okay?’ she darted to her knees and placed her hands on his shoulders rubbing them up and down.

‘I… the bookshop….’

‘Yeah, hun, I know. But at least you weren’t inside.’

‘Who are you?’

‘She’s a friend,’ Newt provided. ‘It’s better if I just jot down her name too,’ he assured PC Chopra and extended the bouquet at Anathema so he could write in the small notebook.

‘Newt, hun, that’s sweet of you but this is really not the time.’

‘What, I never -’

‘Shh, we’ll talk about it later. Meanwhile – Aziraphale, you weren’t inside. No one was inside, no one got hurt, yes?’

PC Chopra and Andrews exchanged a look.

‘Actually, someone was inside. That’s our last question. The lads told us that someone darted inside after the fire was already blazing. He was all out of sorts, dropped his coat and everything.’

‘No…’

He now remembered some of the chatter of the old ladies that he had tried to supress.

_‘This laddie ran inside screaming bloody murder. Almost fought the firemen and everything. They pulled him out ten minutes later but he was in such a state. It’s a blessing that the ambulance came when it did. But I wouldn’t put my hopes up...’_

‘We just wanted to know if you knew this person. He appears to have been wearing all black. Rather tall and skinny fellow? And gi-’

‘ _NO_!’ Anathema gasped.

Aziraphale was already on his feet, cup of tea laying on the ground and he darted towards the line that the fire brigade was fighting to keep in place.

Just in front of the entrance of the bookshop there was a jacket that he knew all too well laying discarded on the ground as no one seemed to bother with that for the moment and a bouquet of what must have been primroses that were trampled into almost unrecognisable bits.

‘No…’

Newt had followed him, together with Anathema and the two police officers and then a phone began to ring.

It was Aziraphale’s but he was too stunned to do anything about it so Newt grabbed it out of his pocket and put it on speaker.

‘What did you do?’ was nearly screeched at him.

‘I….’

‘I will haunt you down and I will kill you, you fucker! What did you do?’

‘I didn’t… Crowley… what happened?’

‘You tell me what fucking happened! He’s in the hospital. If he doesn’t pull through, I will dismember you limb by limb!’

‘If he doesn’t…’

‘Listen, hi. You won’t get much out of Aziraphale at the moment. I’m Anathema. What hospital is he in?’

‘Why the hell would I tell you that?’

‘For the same reason you told Aziraphale that Crowley loves him. He needs to be there right now!’

‘If he did anything to hurt him -’

‘He’d never and you know it. Look, you’re Bea, right? I understand you’re distraught. I would be too if Aziraphale ended up in the hospital. But from what we gathered there was a fire in the bookshop and Crowley ran inside.’

‘That complete wanker! The moment he wakes up I will kill him myself!’

‘Bea?’

‘Yeah? Oh, yeah, King’s College Hospital. A&E. I’ll meet you there.’

Aziraphale was glued to the spot and seemed like he wasn’t even breathing to the casual observer.

‘Okay, so, I’m taking him to the hospital, right now,’ Anathema told Newt and passed him back the flowers.

‘Maam, we still need to ask him some questions.’

Anathema threw them both the most severe look she could come up with. Even Newt shied away from it .

‘And you will as soon as we go to the hospital and see that everything is okay. Not like he’s in any condition to answer any of your questions anyway. I mean, look at him.’

Aziraphale was trembling slightly and he looked on the verge of crumpling to the ground.

PC Andrews tried to object but a hand on his forearm and a shake of the head from PC Chopra had him reconsider his decisions.

Anathema squeezed Newt’s shoulder and then took Aziraphale by the arm dragging him in the direction of the main street where they could hail a cab.

\---

‘Yeah well you guys called me. You tell me what the fuck is happening!’

‘Miss, I have to kindly ask you to -’

‘Aaaargh!’ Bea growled at the nurse who seemed to be way in over her head.

‘So, miss, if you could just give me your name.’

Bea had an inner debate with themself about pointing out the significance of certain pins quite clearly showing on their leather jacket but thought it better to bite this newbie’s head off _after_ they made sure that Crowley was safe.

‘Beatrice Prince. You called me about Anthony Crowley. I’m his emergency contact.’

‘Let me check out what the status is. Have a seat.’

Bea snorted. _As if they could sit down at a time like this._

Their eyes snapped to the entrance upon hearing a voice they recognised.

‘Why was he even inside? Who runs into a burning building? Why?’

‘I don’t know, hun, but I’m sure it will be alright,’ Bea saw a tall lanky woman, presumably Anathema, argue back, before the both of them reached the nurses station and, ergo, Bea themself.

They still shot daggers with their eyes at Aziraphale and he at least had the decency to shut up.

Bea realised he was as distraught by the news as they were, judging by the way he was all but swaying on his feet. His eyes were glazed and his hair was sitting in all directions like he had pulled at it without realising it. It was a far cry from how he had looked earlier today.

‘Miss?’ the nurse called and Bea buzzed with the fury of an angry wasp hive. They will kill someone before the day was out and since that someone no longer looked like it was going to be Aziraphale they were not picky.

‘Anthony Crowley, yes? He’s in the A&E at the moment.’

‘Well, aren’t you helpful?’

‘I…’

‘What happened to him, you imbecile?’

‘I, um… he has suffered massive smoke inhalation and a concussion. And he needs skin grafts for third degree burns on one of his hands. They have put him under for the moment.’

Bea was still staring at her.

‘Um, medically induced coma, miss.’

‘Oh dear,’ Bea could hear Aziraphale whisper in a broken voice and it looked like his knees were on the verge of giving in.

Anathema guided him towards one of the rows of uncomfortable plastic chairs designed by people who thought that being in the A&E because one of your loved ones was struggling wasn’t torture enough and they needed to add further stuff to the mix that baked into an altogether unpleasant day.

‘Oh no, no no no no no,’ he repeated like a mantra and started swaying.

‘Fucking stupid cunt!’ Bea growled and wanted to kick at a wall or that good for nothing nurse, or possibly Crowley. _Definitely Crowley._

_What the fuck was the demented sod thinking pulling stuff like that? Didn’t he know they would lose it if something happened to him? Why was he being this dense? Why?_

Anathema waved them over and they slumped into the chair next to Aziraphale at a loss of what to do next if they couldn’t focus their rage on something.

They had considered focusing it on Aziraphale but seeing him bawling his eyes out somewhat dampened their impulse to do that. And Crowely was still in the theatre so there was no way they could reach him to rip his head off at the moment. Of course, there was the nurse….

They felt a hand on one of their knees.

It was that woman. Anathema. Maybe they could focus their rage on her.

‘Is there anyone you might want to call?’

‘Dunno.’

‘Aziraphale has me and I’ll stay here with him for as long as he needs. But I think you might need someone too.’

‘I guess.’

‘And in the meantime, I will have some choice words with the nurse, yes?’

_Okay, hating on Anathema wasn’t happening either._

Especially after they heard her nearly bite the nurse’s head off and pointedly instructing her on pins and pronouns. And then asking to speak to the head nurse, in the most American “I want to talk to your manager” voice she could muster.

Bea let their head drop back and hit the wall with more force than necessary and then they sighed as they quick dialled Dana.

‘Hey, babes.’

They looked around and wanted to crawl out of their body.

‘I’m in the hospital. Oh, nono, there’s nothing wrong with me, I’m fine!’

They looked at the sterile walls and the methodical way the nurses exchanged files as if the people in those files were mere numbers and thought about Crowley strapped to a bunch of beeping machines and felt like throwing up.

‘I’m… not fine. It’s Crowley.’

If they put something up his throat they would lose it, they thought as they fought back a shiver.

‘King’s. A&E. Babes there’s no need to… no… actually – could you please come over? He’s in a really bad way.’

They ended the call and closed their eyes some more, the smell of disinfectant taking over their brain.

‘I can’t stay here, I’m going outside,’ they announced to no one in particular and sprang to their feet putting as much distance in between themselves and Aziraphale who had turned into a massive shipwreck. One of those that they made Oscar- winning movies about.

They just couldn’t deal with this right now.

If they lost Crowley… that thought didn’t even bear thinking about.

_No. He’s gonna be just fine. Fine and dandy._

Shit like this always happened to him and he always ended up on two feet.

_It wasn’t as if it was the first time he was in the hospital either._

Bea remembered being called as his emergency contact at least six times.

_But this was different._

_To run into a burning building? What the ever-loving fuck was the matter with him?_

It was already dark by the time Dana got there.

 _Huh._ They hadn’t noticed the sun setting, too busy to pace incessantly.

‘Pix, love, what happened?’

And that was all it took for Bea to crumble completely in Dana’s arms and start sobbing like there was no tomorrow.

97Despite all of his cussing.

98But not always, Aziraphale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose) for all of the beta-ing!


	27. ...someone woke up from an enchanted slumber...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to be on the mend. But it takes a while.  
> Also. There's "sorta" love confessions. :D 
> 
> CW: Hospitals and hospital paraphenalia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose)! You have been with me through thick and thin and this chapter in particular was a bit of both! :*

** Thursday, December 20th **

There was light. Far too much light.

_Was this… was this normal?_

Not that a lot of things had been as of late.

The last thing he remembered was… there was a fire? _Right?_ Had that been a dream?

 _No._ There was definitely a fire. And now here he was sitting in an amorphous void where everything was far too bright for anyone’s own good, including his.

 _Was this… was he…? Nah_ , people like him didn’t land in the shiny bit of the afterlife, so at least he was pretty relaxed on that front.

He seemed to be pretty relaxed in general, now that he thought about it. Weightless even. He faintly remembered a rather nasty blow to the head but nothing hurt. Well, that was a tad disconcerting.

He could have sworn he heard the angel speaking to him at least once but no matter how hard he searched his surroundings there was nothing there but blinding whiteness.

He swore he spotted his mum too, in the corner of his eye, but that image vanished as soon as it had appeared.

Okay, so inner musings about the state of his eternal soul notwithstanding, this proved to be more and more on the nose and the only conclusions he could draw only pointed in one very particular, very final direction.

He heard the angel’s voice again but couldn’t make out any words. He sounded sad. And it seemed like he was… praying? _Now wasn’t that fitting?_

\---

‘Aziraphale?’

Aziraphale didn’t move from his chair next to the bed. He couldn’t. He just squeezed Crowley’s hand tighter and didn’t even turn towards the door.

‘Honey?’ this time he felt a hand on his shoulder so his eyes instinctively snapped up. They were glazed and puffy and red at the rims. He probably looked a sight. Not that it much mattered.

‘I just can’t postpone your talk with the police any longer. I’ve used every available excuse but the more I stall the more suspicious they get. There’s already talk around the station about you orchestrating all of this for the insurance money.’

‘Wha….’

‘I know. It’s bullshit. But there’s a lot of evidence that points to the fact that it wasn’t an accident. Someone planned this.’

‘So what if they did? They’re just books. This is Crowley we’re talking about. I can’t just leave him!’

_Oh wow, this was bad. With a capital “B” Bad._

Anathema turned around and locked eyes with Bea. They seemed to exchange an unspoken conversation and then Bea closed their eyes and nodded.

‘Listen,’ they began and it was for the first time that Aziraphale even noticed their presence. He was quite taken by surprise that they addressed him directly.

The last couple of days they hadn’t been on speaking terms and had tried their best to stay out of each other’s way. Or as much as they could have while inhabiting the same hospital room. ‘Look. I’m sorry about before. I was a bit of a cunt, yeah?’

 _So this is where Crowley got his colourful language from, was it?_ He nearly snorted as his eyes filled with tears yet again. He missed Crowley swearing like a sailor in his shop after hours. He didn’t even know it was possible to get emotional about hearing such a slur and yet here he was.

He buried his face in the sheets, a cheek brushing Crowley’s very still and very cold fingers.

‘I’m not good with shit like this,’ Bea continued in such a monotonous voice that you could swear they were reading a script. ‘It’s just… the wanker’s my friend and I… I thought it was your fault and… shit. Forget it. Just go and talk to the cops.’

Aziraphale shook his head, still not lifting his face from the sheets or looking at any of them.

‘You need to do that. And you need to go home and sleep. And have a change of clothes and maybe a shower. I’ll sit here with him.’

At this he did look up at them with an inquisitive expression on his face.

The last couple of days had been horrible for basically everyone, Bea and Aziraphale most of all.

And yes, they did spend most of their time in the hospital, dozing off in the chair by the window while Aziraphale was occupying the chair next to the bed and silently sobbing with his face in the covers, thinking that would muffle all sounds. It very much did not.

But Bea had been home at least twice. For three hours at most, each time. They had changed clothes four times because Dana had come by with a couple of clean T-shirts and some slacks.

Aziraphale hadn’t even left the room.

Not once. Not since they let Crowley out of the HDU.

There had been a lot of “we can’t let you stay over night” coupled with a similar amount of “but hospital policy” but those were quickly forgotten after Aziraphale had thrown Anathema a pointed look and Anathema had placed several phone calls. After that there seemed to be no problem anymore. No problem at all.

There was some talk about quite a generous anonymous donation to the Paediatrics Ward that had most of the nurses quite excited but no one seemed to put two and two together. It consisted entirely of toys but the children were happy and that was all that mattered.

And if the head-nurse had taken a linking to Aziraphale and let him do as he pleased… well, that was her own private business, _thank you very much_ , as she had made it abundantly clear to the other nurses.

Bea had had many opinions about Aziraphale in the past months. But they were all to change as they looked at him sitting on that horrid plastic chair, Crowley’s hand clasped in between his two palms, praying for what seemed like hours on end. Or just staring at the wall intently. Or crying.

Anathema had brought him over the last couple of days many a cup of tea and several sandwiches from the cafeteria that had invariably gone stale.

If they had ever had even a shadow of a doubt that this man didn’t love their lousy excuse for a best friend then this discouraged them all.

‘I’ll text you if he wakes up. I have your number,’ they said as they waved their phone at him.

He still didn’t look very convinced.

‘He’s not going to wake up without you here. He wouldn’t dare, angel,’ Bea tried their best to give him a comforting smile. They failed but he was far too exhausted to notice either way.

Aziraphale’s heart was suddenly in his throat. _Did Crowley talk to his friends about the “angel” bit?_ And why was the impossible man even calling him that?

He asked as much out loud.

‘Angel? _Oh._ He’s been calling you that ever since you first commented on his mum’s first story. He told me he was going to delete them that night. Made a huge deal about how you were an absolute godsend. I hate to agree with the fucker on anything, but here you are.’

This was uttered as they had already stepped closer and were on the other side of the bed looking down at Crowley with a hard to identify expression. And then they let one of their hands tuck one of his locks back behind an ear and linger there, thumb caressing one of Crowley’s cheeks.

The difference between their words and their actions was astounding but Aziraphale had heard on many an occasion that that was just how Bea was. To actually see how much they cared for Crowley was something else entirely. And he had gathered from Anathema who overheard them speaking to Dana in the hallway that seeing him plugged to so many machines and especially with that tube down his throat was far more than they could manage. And still here they were. So maybe… maybe it would be alright to get going for just a couple of hours? Get this police business done with once and for all.

‘Go, Aziraphale. I promise I won’t leave his side until you come back. Will keep that horrible chair of yours warm and toasty for you, yeah?’

_Fine. This was going to be fine._

\---

PC Chopra offered them both a cup of tea despite the rough-looking detective frowning at her and telling her they should just get it over with already.

‘So, mister Fell,’ she started as soon as the tea had been brought and she was sat down, police file opened in front of her. ‘We just have a couple of questions seeing as there are a few things which don’t seem to… add up.’

‘Fishy as hell, if you ask me,’ DI Thompson sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. She turned towards him and shot him a look that seemed to convey the fact that no one, at any point, had asked him. The DI just cleared his throat and the PC had the decency to keep her mouth shut.

He was a sour-looking fellow with a three-day old stubble and head balding on top. He had apparently taken a dislike to Aziraphale as soon as he set eyes on him, muttering things about “posh nobs” for as long as it took for them to get seated and offered tea. Hadn’t liked the look on Anathema either or the fact that she was there in the room to begin with.

Anathema silently thanked the powers that be that the officer who was assisting him was PC Chopra instead of PC Andrews since she had no idea how they could possibly deal with two Andrews’ at the time being. Especially since Aziraphale was still hardly responsive.

‘As I was saying, Mr. Fell. There are a couple of things that seem out of the ordinary. Such as the fact that there didn’t seem to be any kind of a break-in.’

‘Why would there be? I thought it was something to do with the electric. You know the building itself is quite old and I never thought to upgrade the circuits.’

‘On the other hand there is a “break-out” so to speak,’ she mimicked some air quotes.

‘What do you mean?’

‘The skylight was broken. We found pieces of glass everywhere.’

‘Maybe something fell on it?’ Aziraphale tried. He was really tired and not in the mood for this whole investigation.

‘There were pieces of glass on the roof.’

‘Well then, maybe something on the inside exploded? Maybe that’s the source of the fire?’

‘You seem to come up with an awful lot of explanations, don’t you, mister Fell?’ Thompson chipped in with a sneer.

Aziraphale was far too exhausted for this. And frankly he didn’t like where all of this was going or what they were implying.

‘That could be what happened,’ PC Chopra said with a reassuring smile. ‘But that still doesn’t explain how your friend got in. Did he have a key?’

‘What friend?’

‘The one who is in… well…’

‘Oh.’

‘The fire brigade said that he just rushed in. I don’t think he would have had enough time to fiddle with the keys to open the shop and, as we said, the lock was not forced or anything. So, our only logical conclusion was that it was already unlocked. Maybe you forgot to lock it?’ she added helpfully.

‘Aziraphale?’ Anathema provided with a snort. ‘Forget to lock the shop? As if.’

DI Thompson eyed the both of them with narrowed eyes and a very circumspect expression. He turned towards his colleague.

‘And you said that this wasn’t insurance fraud, heh!’

Aziraphale could honestly not believe his ears. Of course, Anathema had said as much, but he believed her to be either jesting or exaggerating the whole situation in order to convince him to actually come down to the police station.

‘Insurance fraud?’ he nearly jumped out of his chair, shock giving way to rage. ‘That shop isn’t my livelihood but it is the most precious thing I own. Owned…’

He drew in a deep breath.

‘To even suggest that I could ever harm a book is just… just preposterous, let me tell you!’

The two officers were taken aback by his sudden outburst.

‘Mr. Fell, there’s no need to -’

‘No need? You accuse me of willingly destroying my home? Nearly killing the man I love in the process? _Need?_ Have you even thought about checking my bank accounts? I think you’ll see that there is absolutely no reason for me to do anything of the sort!’

‘We did in fact,’ DI Thompson frowned. ‘That’s where it all gets confusing. You have more money than you can possibly dream off. What are you gonna do, get buried with it?’

‘Quite.’

‘So that’s indeed a thing. But the point still stands. There is foul play to be had.’

‘It is obvious that I can’t change your mind and you obviously can’t change mine, so I’d like to be excused.’

‘We still have a couple more questions.’

‘And unless you come up with an indictment I have no intention of sitting here and wasting valuable time while Crowley could be waking up any moment now. Good day.’

He hadn’t sat down after his earlier outburst so in just three short steps he was out of the door of the interrogation room and nearly clashed with someone who was retreating down the corridor, back towards him and finger pointed accusatorily at someone at the other end of the hall.

‘Now you listen here, mate, I don’t come around and tell you you’re incompetent at your job, now do I? I am telling you, we found the guy on his stomach not his back so there is _no_ way me or any of the boys were responsible for his head injury.’

Aziraphale gasped.

And then the man who had nearly collided with him turned and took him in.

‘Oi, it’s your shop that got burned, innit?’

‘Yes. Yes it was. Now about the -’

‘How’s the bloke doin’? Some of the lads said that you two knew each other?’

‘He’s in the hospital. Stable. Listen, I -’

‘I’ll have you know this had nuthin’ to do with us. I mean, right, we did break your windows with the hose, sorry ‘bout that. But it was a lost cause anyway. But we didn’t put him in the hospital like these bright chaps seem to be suggesting,’ the fireman raised his voice a tad so to make sure half the station heard him.

‘I never said that -’

‘He had a pretty nasty blow to the back of the head when we found him. But he was on his front, not his back. So it couldn’t have been us.’

Aziraphale turned on his heels and noticed the two police officers standing in the doorframe of the interrogation room, looking at the both of them in shock.

‘What’s you name, laddie?’ Thompson turned to the fireman.

‘Wallace. And I won’t be patronized by any of you bobbies.’

‘Of course not,’ Thompson nodded at him and then eyed Aziraphale with a look that said “stay here”. Not like Aziraphale planned on going anywhere after finding out this piece of information.

‘Who the hell is the incompetent shit that interviewed Mr. Wallace and didn’t bring this to our attention?’

‘It was me sir,’ Andrews raised his hand from the bullpen. ‘But I gathered they were wrong and they didn’t remember what happened what with the commotion and -’

‘Shut it! No one is paying you to gather anything. You write it down as you hear it and come back and report to me. Is that understood?’

‘Sir, yessir.’

‘Good. As you were,’ Thompson grumbled and turned towards Aziraphale yet again.

‘Since there seem to be new developments in the case I thought maybe you’d like to re-join us in the interrogation room.’

‘Yes. Yes, of course. Anything to get to the bottom of this.’

He had every intention of collaborating with the police if what happened to Crowley was in any way someone’s doing instead of an unfortunate string of events.

His jaw was set so tight that he feared he might break some of his teeth in the process.

And as the inspectors went over the case his vision swam red.

Anathema had tried placing a comforting hand on his shoulder but to no avail.

Someone had actually gone and did this to Crowley. _His_ Crowley. _Oh, they would have to pay._

\---

Dana knocked on the door but made no attempt to step inside. Both Aziraphale and Bea lifted their eyes and looked at her and she gestured for Bea to come over.

Aziraphale had told them earlier what he had found out at the police station and it was nothing short of a miracle that they hadn’t all been kicked out of the hospital after the reaction that Bea had had.

And then they had called Dana and something in Dana’s tone had seemed to change somewhat. She had excused herself from the phone call saying that she needed to do something. That had been three hours ago.

They both looked at her with an inquisitive expression and noticed that she was not looking her best.

Her make-up was smeared, one of the sleeves of her faux-leather jacket was ripped up and she seemed to be missing the heel on one of her boots. And that wasn’t taking into account her bloody knuckles.

‘Babes, what happened to you?’

‘More like what I happened to do to other people,’ Dana managed before Bea was out of the room and they started talking in a low whisper.

‘They fucking _WHAT_?’ Aziraphale was startled by Bea exploding in something that could not be defined as either low or a whisper.

The night nurse tried to shush them to no avail.

‘I will fucking rip that piece of shit up limb by limb! I will gouge his eyes out! I will -’

‘My dear,’ Aziraphale intervened, already by the door, a calming hand on Bea’s shoulder. He very much approved of whatever they had in mind but this needed to be done properly. ‘What seems to be the problem?’

‘Dana knows who did it. And why.’

‘Broke the fucker’s arm over it. I think. I hope so, at least,’ Dana joined in. ‘There was a crack, that’s for sure.’

‘Oh dear.’

That was more for propriety’s sake rather than anything else. At this point, Aziraphale felt very confident that he wouldn’t have minded if Dana had broken their neck.

‘Would those PIs that Anathema knows be willing to pick this up?’

‘Pick what up?’

‘Okay, so listen here,’ Dagon started. ‘Do I have the story for you…’

Aziraphale’s expression turned from partly miffed to plain murderous.

‘I see,’ he managed when Dana finished her story.

\---

Crowley had hated the white void but now he kind of missed it as he got hit by the blinding pain at the back of his head and as he realised that there was something lodged in his throat. He tried both coughing and pulling at it to no avail.

And then he started to perceive his surroundings better. His eyes adjusted to the room he was in and he could feel that there was something warm wrapped around his hand.

Aziraphale was sitting by the side of the bed, hands clasped over Crowley’s own, head perched on top of them, face turned towards Crowley.

Crowley’s eyes still stung and his vision was still blurry and the more he tried to focus his gaze on Aziraphale, the more his head hurt. But one thing was for certain. Aziraphale looked frightfully harrowed. Like a mere shadow of himself.

He looked extremely pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. His usually perfectly coifed curls were sitting at any odd angle and his pristine clothes were in a state that Crowley had never seen them in before.

First off, he wasn’t wearing either his customary jacket nor any waistcoat or any of those ridiculous cardigans of his. No bowtie was to be seen. His shirt sleeves were bundled up just above his elbows and were this any other day Crowley would have had a completely different reaction. But right now he could only focus on how out of sorts Aziraphale looked up in this get-up and how thin and frail his arms looked, nothing like how he remembered those strong arms of his to be.

And he could do nothing to attract his attention, it seemed.

He tried speaking several times but there was something shoved down his throat and he couldn’t get anything louder than a whimper out. Maybe touch was the solution, he thought as he tried to squeeze his fingers around Aziraphale’s.

It took a little over a minute for the other man to wake up and realise that this wasn’t one of his fantasies but reality and Crowley was staring at him and firmly gripping his hand.

And then he just lost it.

He broke down sobbing instantly and buried his face in between Crowley’s hand and hip and stayed there for as long as possible before Crowley lifted his fingers and slowly caressed his cheek.

It took several more minutes for him to be able to actually face Crowley who was looking at him with wide and honest eyes and everything about him screamed at Aziraphale to just tell him once and for all. So he did.

‘Crowley… my dear. My darling. I love you. That’s the long and the short of it and I am so very sorry that you can’t stop me from saying it now. But I am also grateful. Because I don’t think I would have the nerve to do this otherwise.’

Crowley was looking at him and not saying anything. _Well… he couldn’t do that, could he?_

‘I think I’ve loved you since I first laid eyes on your stories. And then I met you. And you are… sublime doesn’t even begin to describe it. You are nice and you are kind and you are… you’re the best person I have ever met. And I love you. Fully. Completely.’

Crowley was still staring at him but a lone tear managed to sneak down one of his cheeks.

And then he grabbed one of Aziraphale’s hands and placed it over his own heart, looking at him without blinking all the while.

Aziraphale couldn’t take his eyes off him so he was extremely aware of the hand that Crowley lifted from atop his own only so he could caress his cheek.

He leaned into the touch and sighed.

 _Let me down easy, such as it were_ – he thought.

And then Crowley lowered his hand over his neck, his thumb stroking his Adam’s apple and the downwards still until it was placed on Aziraphale’s chest. Square on it. Over his heart.

Then Crowley took the hand away. Pointed at himself. Then at Aziraphale. And then placed his hand over the other man’s heart yet again.

Aziraphale’s eyes were as wide as saucers.

And then Crowley patted his chest and nodded. He even tried to smile but that sent him into a coughing fit that took a long time to recover from.

‘You…?’ Aziraphale faltered.

Crowley nodded furiously.

‘You love me?’

There were even more nods.

‘Oh.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is nigh - hem hem - near :))


	28. ...two lovers were reunited...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our train reaches Smutnfluff Station after a long looong delay.
> 
> CW: hospitals and the like; mentions of injury (burn); smut happening from "Thursday, December 27" onwards; top Crowley for the people who aren't into that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose) \- you are a darling petal!

** Saturday, December 22nd **

‘Eat your fucking soup, you reprobate!’ Bea nearly growled at him.

But he would be damned to hell and back if he let other people feed him stuff like he was a fucking toddler.

They had pulled him off the breathing machine two days ago and off the IV drips yesterday and now apparently he had to eat on his own. Except his right hand was heavily bandaged and he was under strict orders not to touch anything with it and balancing a bowl while also holding a spoon was no easy feat with just his left hand.

So Bea had taken it upon themselves to feed him. _Like a kid._

‘Just leave it, Bee. It’s ridiculous to be spoon fed when you’re in your late thirties.’

‘You have waved away any right to say something is ridiculous when you ran inside a burning building like the complete wanker that you are. Still haven’t forgiven you for that.’

‘Bring me a sandwich or something then.’

‘Are you being obstinate on purpose? No solid foods for three days. Doctor’s orders. I swear I’ll pin you down and pour the damn thing down your throat myself if you don’t stop acting up.’

‘Pff, as if you’d do anything to harm my fragile -’ he stopped talking as Bea grabbed his chin forcefully and fixed him with the most murderous expression they were capable off.

‘Well hello there. How are you… what is going on?’ Aziraphale’s cheery expression turned into a confused one.

‘Fucker won’t eat. I am taking drastic measures.’

‘Oh dear. No no, that simply wouldn’t do,’ Aziraphale shook his head and deposited his jacket on one of the chairs before turning towards the bed.

Crowley’s eyes were fixed on him and he even chanced a small smile despite Bea’s fingers pressing hard into his cheeks.

‘Here, let me help. You could probably do with a break,’ he told Bea who had indeed spent the night by Crowley’s bedside after it being unanimously decided that Aziraphale needed to go home and spend a night in his own bed. Unanimously by Bea and Crowley that was, since Aziraphale was completely against that plan. But he had acquiesced eventually and had been sent his merry way after almost a full week spent inside the hospital.

One of the main reasons he had been convinced to leave at all was the fact that he had to meet up with Anathema, Red and Chalky at some point and discuss how they were going to pursue this. Because pursue it he will. And if the police proved to be incompetent and didn’t care about testimonies or simply didn’t believe him at his word then there was nothing a couple of private detectives wouldn’t be able to do. Especially when you threw a lot of money at them.

So apparently there was someone who had been inside the bookshop at the same time that Crowley had been there. Someone with ill intent. Someone who had hit Crowley over the back of the head rendering him unconscious.

Did they plan it like that all along? Who would have wanted to harm Crowley? Did he have any enemies? Somehow he found it hard to believe that such a sweet man could have any enemies. _And yet…_

But the fire had apparently already started when Crowley had rushed in. And the skylight had been broken from the inside. And the door was already opened. So many things that didn’t add up…

But he was beyond exhausted so other than answering Red’s quite harrowing line of inquiries he didn’t speculate much. He needed time to think. And sleep too but he didn’t get much of that spending the majority of the evening and half the night in the company of the other three, pondering over possible lines of inquiry.

Despite Red’s willingness to “break some eggs if you wanted to make an omelette” – which frankly Aziraphale didn’t disapprove of that much, given the circumstances – Chalky had insisted that they couldn’t go about this as Dana had done if they hoped for a full confession that would stand up in court.

 _No_. It was best to gather up as much information as possible on the two of them so that they could have something to blackmail them with into a confession.

From what Aziraphale had gathered from Dana they were responsible for quite a lot of small and petty crimes that they had never been convicted of before.

And if they could get their fingerprints they were sure that they could place them at the scene of the crime regardless.

But they didn’t just want them placed there. Aziraphale wanted to go after who was actually responsible for this, not just paid thugs. And from what both Bea and Dana had told him this was all these two were.

And then Red had started talking logistics with Anathema and he had dozed off on the couch.

Not that he planned on ever telling Crowley that when the whole point of getting him home had been for him to sleep in an actual bed.

So he took the bowl from Bea’s hands and took their spot on the edge of the bed giving Crowley his most prize winning smile.

‘I don’t like being treated like a kid,’ Crowley crossed his arms over his chest and then pouted, acting very much like a kid.

‘Darling,’ Aziraphale tried again and smiled at him some more.

‘Alright. Fine!’ Crowley gesticulated, nearly kicking the bowl out of Aziraphale’s hand but he did sit up straighter and seemed to get over his earlier tantrum.

Bea rolled their eyes and Crowley could swear that he heard them mutter ‘fucking sap’ before they left the room.

But it didn’t matter because the angel was here and he was stroking his cheek with one hand and looking at him with eyes full of love and finally, finally, Crowley could not mistake that look for anything else.

And then he leaned in and gently kissed his forehead.

Crowley let his head fall back and chased Aziraphale’s lips with his own only for him to manage a low-sounding mumble at the back of his throat that immediately turned into a fit of violent coughing.

‘Dearest,’ Aziraphale caressed his hair and placed his forehead over Crowley’s. ‘I told you, you mustn’t exhaust yourself. We’ll have all the time in the world for that. What you need to focus on now is getting better. And in order to do that you have to start by eating this soup.’

 _Not to mention I probably stink_ , was something that Crowley very much didn’t mention but he was sure of it, not being able to take a proper shower in more than a week.

‘Now open wide,’ Aziraphale teased with just a hint of a smirk.

‘Bastard,’ Crowley mumbled but without any bite to it and then gave in to Aziraphale’s request.

** Friday, December 21st **

It was a Friday when they finally took all of the complicated machines away promising to only keep him on the IV for another day.

Aziraphale had gone home sometime during the early morning after making sure that Crowley had fallen asleep with a peaceful look on his face and having got a few hours of uncomfortable sleep himself.

After he had woken up and the doctor had been called for a check-up only to confirm that everything was alright and Crowley was going to make a speedy recovery, they had been left alone for at least an hour before Bea had finally showed up, all fury and retribution.

Aziraphale had told him the long and the short of it, every second sentence being punctuated by an “I am sorry, darling. So so sorry.”

There had been tears on both their parts and a thousand more “I love yous” on Aziraphale’s part, handholding and hand kisses and fingers wiping the tears away and wet smiles.

Aziraphale had given up his plastic chair and was now sitting on the edge of the bed, Crowley’s hand clasped in between the two of his, kept close to his chest and happily recounting the huge success that the book had been as Bea stormed into the room and nearly threw themself at an unsuspecting Crowley.

Aziraphale got up and drew a few steps back, wanting to give them a little bit of privacy.

Crowley coughed for a bit, to the best of his abilities what with the respiratory machine and everything so they saw that as their cue to end the bone-crushing hug but punched him hard in the shoulder instead.

‘You absolute fucker. You scared me to death!’

He tried to mime an apology for which he received another punch.

‘If you ever pull shit like that again I will kill you myself, so help me Satan.’

Crowley extended a hand to them and, as soon as Bea took it, pulled them down on the bed on top of him, coughing some more as they landed on his chest. But he held them there in a half-hug, cheek on top of their head, his hand rubbing their back up and down.

‘Duckie,’ Bea muttered against his hospital gown, ‘I’m serious. I don’t know what I’d do without you, you know that, right?’

Crowley squeezed their shoulder tightly and rubbed his cheek on their head more insistently. He’d probably kiss their forehead were it not for the plethora of machines and tubes.

Aziraphale figured that three was a crowd so he stepped back some more only to bump into a chair and make Bea realise they weren’t alone in the room for the first time since they came in. They had been too focused on Crowley being awake to even notice that Aziraphale had been there up until now.

‘Right,’ they said as they got up, trying to inconspicuously wipe at their eyes with the sleeve of their oversized hoodie. ‘I’d better leave you two lovebirds alone then. Um... yeah. Was gonna call Dana anyway, tell her you’re not dead. She’ll probably not be happy,’ they managed a weak chuckle and left the room before Aziraphale could comment on seeing Bea show emotion like that.

Crowley looked at the closing door with a soft expression and then beckoned Aziraphale over yet again and the blonde could do nothing but comply, taking back his seat on the edge of the bed and at some point, much much later, falling asleep with his head on Crowley’s chest as the other man was carding his hand trough his hair.

That had been somewhere around midnight and Crowley had fallen asleep soon afterwards. But Aziraphale wasn’t a heavy sleeper at the best of times and despite his exhausting last days, this was not the best of times so he had grown accustomed with sleeping no more than two-three hours a night.

So at about six in the morning he woke up sore all over and decided he should probably go home for a shower and a change of clothes. He didn’t even want to think about the state he was in and having Crowley see him like that.

And the doctors had told them that they were going to take the man off the machines in the morning so it was for the best that he’d be there looking his best when they did.

He stepped out of the hospital room and called for Davies to bring the car around. He could have easily taken the tube but he wanted to be as quick as possible and be back at the hosital and by Crowley’s side again in record time.

The record time turned out to be two hours what with morning traffic and the fact that he kept falling asleep in the shower and when he came back he was stopped by the head nurse, a kindly looking lady that had taken a liking to him. She had been nothing if not helpful and never said anything about him staying in the room after hours albeit being a bit too on the chatty side at times. Such as now when all he wanted to do was see Crowley again.

‘Mr. Fell!’ she exclaimed as soon as she laid eyes on him and Aziraphale gave her a brief smile but cursed his luck under his breath.

‘Ah, nurse Hodges.’

‘How many times have I told you to call me Mary?’

‘More than I could possibly count,’ he replied and wasn’t at all wrong. The brief smile appeared yet again while he was looking over her shoulder at the room to see if Crowley had woken up. ‘I was just…’

‘Ah. Can’t let you in just yet. Hah, isn’t that a first now there’s a laugh,’ she lightly swatted at his shoulder with the patient file she was currently holding.

Aziraphale thought he should have been more upset about that than he was at the current moment.

‘Why not?’

‘Just got him off the machines and he shouldn’t talk to much. Doctor’s orders. He also said one visitor at a time for now and he’s in there with his emergency contact so we are keeping it like that for now. But I can keep you company while you wait.’

Aziraphale wanted to utter a very polite “aren’t there other patients that you need to tend to” but kept his mouth shut. This woman was half of the reason why he had been able to spend the last nights by Crowley’s side. So if she wanted a little gossip then so be it, he thought and for the next half hour he was the perfect gentleman, nodding here and agreeing there and actually not having registered a word she said.

‘Oi there!’ was what immediately snapped him out of his thoughts and he lifted his gaze only to see Bea standing in the doorframe of the hospital room, waving him over.

‘Terribly sorry, dear girl,’ he smiled at the head nurse and headed Bea’s way.

‘I think I gave him a thorough bollocking but in case he asks I am still mad at him and you should be too, right?’

‘Um… yes. Of course.’

‘You’re just gonna tell him what a perfect little princess he is, aren’t you?’

‘Um…’

‘I’ve seen the way you talk to him. Even when he was unconscious. And I like that about you. I do. He needs someone like you in his life. But don’t go easy on him about this. It can NEVER happen again, right?’

‘Right. Of course.’

‘Gah. You’re still gonna treat him like a precious flower, I can tell. No matter. I’ll be back for a second bollocking after I go and eat some breakfast.’

Bea patted his shoulder and they were off just like that so he was left staring at the wooden grain on the door and thinking that just on the other side of it there was Crowley. Alive and breathing and now able to talk to him. Sure, having seen him wake up had been a huge thing. But having actually talk to Aziraphale after all these months… it was momentous. So he drew in a deep breath and stepped in.

‘Angel…’ Crowley half whispered and half wheezed at him and he was by the side of the bed in an instant, cupping Crowley’s cheeks with both his hands and kissing him on his forehead.

‘Shh, darling. Try not to talk if it’s difficult for you.’

He then stepped back and saw Crowley looking at him with a hard to pin expression.

‘Oh. I shouldn’t have kissed you should I? I’m so sorry I presumed…’

‘Angel,’ Crowley whispered again and wrapped his fingers around Aziraphale’s wrist.

He seemed quite resilient for someone who had been what he had been through.

‘What you said yesterday…. I wanted to be able to talk to you too. Tell you stuff.’

‘It’s alright, darling. It’s fine. More than,’ Aziraphale tried to smile but found his eyes awash with tears.

‘It’s not. You didn’t do anything wrong by me and still – I treated you like you did. I presumed. I put words into your mouth. I didn’t let you explain. And for that I have no excuse.’

‘No no. None of that. I behaved poorly.’

‘You didn’t!’ Crowley snapped and then coughed for a full minute.

‘Please try not to strain yourself, darling.’

There were a couple more minutes before he spoke again, obviously trying to get his breath in check before that.

‘I should have stayed that morning. I should have listened. I am not trying to excuse my behaviour but this is what I always do. I pack my bags and I run. And I run and run not thinking about what I leave in my wake. But I don’t want to do that with you, angel. I want to stay.’

‘Well, that’s good, darling because I also want you to stay. Very much in fact,’ Aziraphale squeezed his hand and gave him another light peck on the forehead. ‘But I do need you to get better first. Whatever the doctors say, you’ll stick to that, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘About the medicine and the food and everything, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘And when they discharge you, maybe… no, that’s too much…’

‘Angel?’

‘No no. I need to stop being selfish. You getting better is what matter now more than anything.’

‘Angel – you were gonna say?’

‘I was going to say move in with me but that’s just completely out of -’

‘YES!’ Crowley nearly jumped out of the bed and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale so tight that the other man thought he was seeing stars.

Of course this little stunt of his earned him some very reproachful sounding beeps from all of the other machines he was still plugged to, a coughing fit and a wince since he still wasn’t accustomed to the fact that at least for now his right hand should be completely untouched.

And then, of course, a string of nurses darted in and chastised the both of them, took his vitals, looked at Aziraphale as if he had caused the end of the world, and then fluffed Crowley’s pillows some and told him to rest. And then threw another very pointed look at Aziraphale.

He really thought he didn’t deserve that bit but who was he to argue with nurses? _You just didn’t do that._

‘So that’s a yes, I gather?’ he managed eventually after the last one of them was gone, hardly being able to hide his smile.

‘Of course it’s a yes. I’ve loved you since forever. Oh shit. I haven’t said. Angel, I love you. I love you so much. And yesterday I couldn’t say it back and -’ he captured Crowley’s hand that was waving about wildly and kissed his knuckles.

‘I know, darling. Please just rest now. I’ll sit here with you and then Bea will come back and you’ll just sit back and relax and we can talk about this later. Anytime, really. But I don’t think you should be talking that much at the moment, yes?’

Crowley nodded at him.

‘Good then. Do you want me to read to you?’

He nodded some more.

** Sunday, December 23rd **

After their debate about the soup had ended and proper visiting hours started99 Adam together with the rest of his gang of little devils had visited and brought balloons and a “get well” card that was hand-drawn and for some reason or other portrayed some dinosaurs holding guns on top of a UFO with a pirate flag. He absolutely loved it.

Deidre was the one to chaperone the kids and for quite a while she stood outside talking to Mary, nurse to nurse before stepping inside the room and providing Crowley with a pout and a “poor darling”. Then she threatened him with even more soup and after all of that one serving Crowley already hated soup as a concept and swore to never in his life eat any soup again.

But he did his best to humour her and asked about the rest of their merry group of “unfortunate casualties” as he referred to the rest of the parents. Both of them knew he didn’t mean it since he adored the kids but no one brought it up. They chatted for a full half hour before she realised that she needed to escort the kids home before her own shift began.

The next day Iris came to visit and brought him a pot with two white hyacinth bulbs that both Crowley and Aziraphale eyed with a knowing look. Aziraphale, noticing the expression on Crowley’s face could hardly supress a snort. _I don’t know flower language, my arse._

Both Anathema and Tracy had popped in several times and Tracy even thought to bring a cake she had baked just for Crowley that Aziraphale ended up eating. None of them seemed to object to that, Crowley sitting up in bed and looking at the angel sample the dessert with the most besotted look known to man on his face.

Christmas itself was a quiet affair and Crowley initially insisted that Bea and Dana take some time off and spend the day together as they needed some them time after all that they had been through but Bea had expressed a short and rather impolite opinion about that and had dragged their shitty DVD player to the hospital that day in order to follow their long-honoured tradition.

Both them and Dana were sporting horrendous Christmas sweaters, as was the norm and because he still had to stay in his hospital gown they only brought him a pair of jingly reindeer antlers instead. And then they looked at Aziraphale up and down and produced a Santa hat from their bag that they placed on his head despite all the fuss.

They all sat down on various surfaces100 and watched Rosemary’s Baby because that was just the type of movie that Bea would deem Christmas appropriate.

And then they all had some of the Christmas pudding that Tracy had brought, Crowley being cleared to eat solids.

Aziraphale would have been a complete liar if he said that he didn’t enjoy the whole day despite his earlier misgivings about both the headwear and the choice of entertainment. But the other three seemed to enjoy the domesticity of it all, falling back on old patterns, joking about the movie or the holiday or each other, throwing jabs that they didn’t mean and laughing out loud. Everything seemed so simple. So easy. He could see himself doing this forever if it meant that Crowley was this happy. He would, wouldn’t he? He most definitely would.

In only two days’ time, Crowley would be discharged and they had already talked about him coming to stay at the manor if only for a while at first since there was no way he’d let Crowley out of his sight.

At some point he fell asleep on his side of the bed, Crowley’s arm wrapped around his shoulders.

** Thursday, December 27th **

They both stepped down the flight of stairs and into the small basement apartment, Aziraphale taking in what had been Crowley’s home for the last two years, give or take.

_ It was… small. And it could do with a good cleaning _ , but Aziraphale should be the last person to comment upon that judging by the dusty state of his bookshelves.

Then he spotted the glass-spun star hanging from the lamp in the middle of the ceiling and gave a soft gasp.

Crowley trailed his gaze and realised that Bea must have put it back up again at some point or other in the last two weeks. They’d know it was something that he’d very much want to see upon returning home.

Theoretically, Aziraphale wasn’t even supposed to be here right now but the options had been rather limited to:

  1. I come back to yours and parade myself in my birthday suit
  2. You come over to mine and don’t mind sleeping – or other activities that get us in a horizontal position - on my pull-out couch on which you can feel each and every spring
  3. I go home to pick back an overnight bag and THEN we go back to yours.



Crowley had absolutely no intention of spending even one more night away from Aziraphale now that they found each other again.

But then Aziraphale had offered to come with him and help him pack up. He said he could carry stuff around so that Crowley didn’t have to use his right hand. But an overnight bag could be easily carried in just his left. So it seemed that Aziraphale also hoped that they would spend the foreseeable future together if he imagined that he’d need to carry on more things than utterly necessary.  _ And wasn’t that something? _

‘See you’ve spotted the star, angel. Best thing in this lousy place.’

‘I very much doubt that, my dear.’

‘How’d’ya reckon?’

‘I mean you are obviously the best thing, aren’t you?’

‘Ngk.’

Aziraphale was smiling at him with only a small glimmer of his bastard streak showing on the surface. And Aziraphale’s eyes were bright and luminous like the midday sky on a sunny day. And the dark circles under his eyes were all but gone. He was back to wearing his customary attire that Crowley found both infuriating yet oddly endearing at the same time. He was there and real and in his living room. And Aziraphale was smiling at him.

He all but threw himself at the angel managing to shift them both off balance and landing spread against the door, Aziraphale being all but slammed onto it with a soft ‘oomph’.

And then his lips were on the angel’s and his movements were nearly frantic as he tried to rid himself of his clothes the best he could.

He fought back a whimper as he pulled at his jacket with his right hand and Aziraphale must have felt it against his lips like that because he gently placed his hands on Crowley’s chest and pushed him away a few inches.

‘My dear, I don’t think you should strain yourself like -’

‘No. Fuck that. I’ve been wanting to kiss you, properly kiss you, ever since I woke up in the hospital. Nah. I’ve been wanting to do this for months now. Please don’t tell me no now. Please, angel…’

‘Very well. But if this is going the way I imagine you want it to go you need to let me take care of you.’

‘Absolutely not,’ Crowley mumbled, his face buried in Aziraphale’s neck and nipping just under his jawline. ‘You’ve taken care of me before. Let me return the favour,’ he smirked against the angel’s neck and then bit it hard only to get a loud moan in return.

Prompted by the very enthusiastic reaction and the fact that Aziraphale had canted his hips forward just so, Crowley’s good hand opened the few buttons of the angel’s winter coat, ridding him of it fairly quickly and then he started to fumble with his belt.

Admittedly, he wasn’t as proficient with his left hand as he was with his right, but he should at least get points for trying.

Once the bothersome belt had been dealt with and the button and zipper as well, he managed to wiggle his hand inside Aziraphale’s briefs, palming his length and earning himself a frankly obscene gasp.

Crowley smirked some more and then tugged at the waistband of both trousers and pants, pulling them down as he himself kneeled before the angel looking up at him in delight.

He had missed letting his eyes roam over Aziraphale’s pale thighs and he had missed the way his hand buried itself in Crowley’s hair tugging at it slightly. He had missed the completely blissed out expression on the angel’s face despite him not having done anything yet. Not that he didn’t intend to. _ Immediately. _

Aziraphale nearly whimpered as Crowley closed his lips around him and tried to take him in as much as he could before being all but pulled away by his hair and  _ damn _ , if that didn’t do some things to him…

‘Crowley! That is out of the question,’ Aziraphale managed, albeit out of breath. And judging by the state that he was in, his reaction had nothing to do with any of his preferences on the matter.

‘Trust me, I would like nothing more but you need to heal first and this is not healthy behaviour.’

Crowley got back up and dipped his head slightly so that he could look Aziraphale straight in the eye as his left hand left the hip it had been gripping and squeezed into a plump buttock instead.  _ Hard. _

Aziraphale let his head drop back and hit the door as his eyes closed and he grabbed Crowley’s hips pressing the two of them closer together.

‘Well then, angel. I have no other option but to completely and utterly ravish you.’

‘Mhm.’

‘Mhm, indeed. You absolute tease,’ Crowley said with zero bite.

He tried guiding them both towards the middle of the living room and more precisely towards the couch but he was having a hard time. Aziraphale stumbled on his trousers twice before toeing away his shoes and leaving the offending pieces of clothing just laying on the floor in a completely out-of-character move.

But Crowley was not judging. He was most definitely not. Nor could he give less of a damn.

So as soon as the pants and the trousers adorned the carpet he pulled at Aziraphale’s hand, dragging him towards the couch and pushing him down on it.

He was forgetting something. He was.  _ Ah! _ There it was! He lifted a finger up to instruct Aziraphale to wait.

Then he dashed through the door to Bea’s bedroom and searched one nightstand, then the other and, when he was happy enough with his findings, he returned to the living room only to find Aziraphale quickly rid himself of the rest of his clothes. And even if he had hoped to unwrap the angel like a Christmas present he just couldn’t be bothered at the moment since what he hoped even more than that was to lay his eyes on that porcelain skin and get to touch the angel everywhere.

The fact that he only had one functioning hand did not escape his notice but he would do the best he could.

Aziraphale extended a hand and touched Crowley’s thigh at first tentatively, fingers splayed leisurely on it, caressing up and down, letting his gaze go upwards until their eyes locked and then wrapped itself around the back of his knee, pulling him forward until his knees reached the edge of the couch, nearly making him tip off balance and fall on top of the angel.

Crowley let out a small huff, amused at the silly and yet impossible man currently residing on his couch completely bare, looking up at him with such wonder in his eyes.

He’d imagined this going a slightly different way. Maybe when they got back to the manor… Maybe on a big four poster bed… Maybe…

_ No. Fuck that. _ Here they were in his shabby flat.  _ Heh _ , not even his to start with. But they were here and Aziraphale wanted him and he needed to stop romanticising everything and just learn to live in the fucking moment. And in this moment right here Aziraphale had buried his face in his T-shirt and had started to fiddle with the string on Crowley’s joggers that he had been quite upset about but he had been told - not in so many words - that no one had the time or energy to get him inside those skin-tight jeans of his now that he couldn’t do it by himself.

He guessed he didn’t mind them so much at this particular point, since, as soon as Aziraphale gave them a soft tug, they were already pooling around his ankles. That had probably more to do with the fact that he was skinnier than he ever remembered himself being outside of care. But still. He silently thanked whoever brought him those to the hospital instead of his signature jeans. It was probably Bea. But he wasn’t about to mentally thank Bea for future sex so “unnamed figure” it was.

Meanwhile, one of Aziraphale’s hands was wrapped against the back of his legs, slowly inching upwards and Crowley was certain that he would soon enough grab his arse. Aziraphale seemed to love his arse.  _ Well, who could blame him? _ It was a good arse. The other hand pushed his T-shirt up and now he was kissing his hipbones and his stomach and the place just under his ribs unencumbered by any clothing.

And then, at the last minute, the hand that Crowley could have placed a bet101 that was going to cup his bum also ventured to the hem of his T-shirt and he made quick work of ridding Crowley of it.

The next thing he knew, the angel placed his face against him again, pressing an impossibly soft kiss on his sternum before lifting his eyes yet again as he wrapped his arms around his mid-back.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ Aziraphale exclaimed in a breathless tone. ‘My darling. My love.’

And when he tried to kiss his chest again, Crowley let his fingers dig into those cloud-like curls and tilted his head up.

‘Don’t think flattery will get you anywhere, angel. I told you.’

Aziraphale chuckled and pulled Crowley forward so that he had no option but end up in his lap, straddling him.

‘No no. None of that. I told you angel, today is all about you,’ he grasped one of Aziraphale’s hands and kissed his knuckles before he let Aziraphale’s palm rest on the side of his neck and dove in for a passionate kiss that made them both stumble backwards on the sofa and made Crowley snort as Aziraphale grumbled about one of the springs.

‘Told you about them, angel. Now sit back and let me take care of you.’

‘And here I was hoping that I would be the one to please you. Pleasure you,’ Aziraphale grinned at him and then bit down on one of his nipples, making Crowley’s head tilt back and start hissing a string of words that should not be repeated in polite conversation.

‘I think we’ll have a lot of trouble with that, angel, since that’s all I want to do to you.’

‘I rather think we will,’ Aziraphale still couldn’t stop grinning. He gripped one of Crowley’s hips and flipped them over. ‘Since that’s also all I want to do to you. Whatever could we possibly do about it?’

‘You silly man, just let me… gah!’ Crowley huffed into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck but then drew his head back as realisation hit him. ‘Unless you don’t want to. Of course. We never talked about -’

‘Shh. I want. Of course I want. Anything and everything with you, my precious darling. I just thought what with your injured hand and all…’

‘Fuck my hand!’

Aziraphale lifted an eyebrow at him and Crowley couldn’t help but burst out laughing. ‘You’re impossible, you are. You know what I meant.’

‘I do indeed.’

‘Then just… you know… sit back. Relax. All that shebang.’

‘My my, do you talk to all of your conquests so eloquently?’

‘Only the ones I plan on wooing properly. And don’t be cheeky with me or I might as well use that bowtie of yours to gag you.’

He said it as a passing tease but he couldn’t stop noticing Aziraphale’s eyes going darker.  _ Okay then. Something they might probably want to revisit on another occasion. _

‘Or I might tie your hands up to my headboard with it, darling. See how you wiggle yourself out of that one,’ Aziraphale smiled at him with the same novel but very intriguing expression but in the end he indeed laid back in between the many throw pillows.

_ Okay. That was something they were DEFINITELY gonna revisit on another occasion. _

But for now he had a job to do and damn him if he wasn’t going to do it properly.

So he placed the back of his right forearm on the angel’s chest as if to pin him down even if they were both well aware that in a second Aziraphale could have him pinned down arms and legs and all and he would have a very hard time moving even an inch. But for appearances’ sake none of them commented on it.

With the other hand he fished for the lube bottle and struggled with the lid for far more than necessary but as soon as Aziraphale extended a hand to help him out he all but growled at him. This was something that he needed to do on his own and the angel understood that instantly.

He stretched his arms over his head, far far away from any point that he could have interfered with Crowley’s own.

He looked absolutely sublime spread underneath him like this, Crowley mused, licking his lips involuntarily and pulling a gasp out of Aziraphale as he did so.

The angel even bit down on his lower lip and he had absolutely no right to look this debauched on this stupid second-hand couch in this shitty apartment before even being touched properly and yet here they were.

He could map the thin blue veins on his skin that looked like marble and the way his chest rose and fell was absolutely hypnotic. All he wanted to do forever was spend his time with his arms wrapped around that soft stomach, that statuesque chest, that back that simply demanded that nails would dig into his shoulder blades and never let go. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how it was that he had survived the last six months without letting his hands102 mapping every inch of that perfect body. Here he was, laying just beneath him and still it was very hard to believe that this was real. That this was something that Crowley could have. Or deserved, to begin with.  _ Wow. _

‘Darling?’

Crowley was snapped away from his inner monologue.

‘You’re staring.’

‘Not my fault, innit? Since you’re this bloody perfect.’

Azriaphale brought one of his hands down from over his head and cupped Crowley’s nape bringing their faces together into yet another kiss that seemed to last forever.

‘Mmmph… darling… mmm… let me help you, yes? I gathered that... you’re doing the heavy lifting… but I can… lend a helping hand,’ Aziraphale bit Crowley’s lip and let his hand sneak under the waistband of his boxers and wrap around his cock.

‘Angel!’

‘Mmm?’

‘You are killing me right now, you are aware?’

‘No no. Nothing of the sort it’s just that… mmm… there’s a spring digging into my hip so I thought we’d better get a wiggle on.’

‘Get a…  _ get a wiggle on? _ You might have just killed the mood completely.’

‘Somehow I doubt that,’ Aziraphale was sure to sport that bastard smile of his, Crowley was certain about it. Could nearly feel it against his lips. And then Aziraphale started working the hand already in his pants.

‘Fuck.’

‘Mhm.’

Crowley’s forehead dropped on Aziraphale’s shoulder but his hitched breath and occasional gasp did nothing to dissuade Aziraphale from what he was doing. Crowley could swear he felt a corner of his lips twitch against his temple,  _ the right bastard. _

‘Fuck… angel. Angel, stop!’

‘What is it?’ Aziraphale sounded wary all of a sudden. ‘Did I do something wrong? Did I -’

‘Nah. I just. I’m close.’

‘So quickly? Well… I’m very honoured.’

‘Shut it and help me with the lube, you menace.’

‘Oh and here I was thinking you wanted to do it all on your own.’

Crowley tried his best to level him with his gaze and look as dangerous as possible but he only narrowly managed to hit besotted and endearing instead.

A healthy dollop of lube was deposited on his fingers and he tried his best to warm it up in between thumb and forefinger before lifting his eyes to search for Aziraphale’s once more.

‘Are you sure, angel? We can do something else if this isn’t your piece of cake.’

‘Now is not the time to tempt me with cake, darling.’

Crowley scoffed but couldn’t suppress a snort.  _ How was he in love with this ridiculous man… _

‘Even if I have to admit that I haven’t done this in a while,’ Aziraphale bit his lip at the confession.

‘I’ll…I’ll be gentle, angel.’

_ Of course he would _ . He had no doubt about it. Crowley would always be gentle, no matter what. But he didn’t necessarily say that he wanted him to be gentle.

‘What I meant was – mmh – what do I do with my hands – mmh!’ he groaned and tilted his head back fighting the urge to bite his lower lip but then instantly doing just that.

He tried reaching for Crowley but the redhead shifted position so that he was a little out of reach.

‘I want you to touch yourself, angel. I would offer that service, of course,’ he paused as he let his finger work him open and was rewarded with some more very very interesting sounds. It was clear that Aziraphale was holding back, those wide blue eyes fixed on him and that plump lip being bitten thoroughly. ‘But I seem to be rather incapacitated at the moment,’ Crowley continued and gave a wiggle of his bandaged fingers, forearm still pressed on Aziraphale’s chest, palm pointing up.

Aziraphale seemed skittish at first, letting his hands drop and then gathering them back up again, toying with his fingers over the swell of his stomach and that simply would not do. The two pictures before him seemed so foreign, so dissonant, that Crowley couldn’t bear it.

He added a second finger and curled them just so and instantly one of Aziraphale’s hands jumped from his stomach to grab one of the throw pillows while the other one now laid splayed just underneath his sternum in a failed attempt to keep his back from arching upwards.

Crowley was more than content about how this was all going and gently nudged Aziraphale’s hand with the side of his own bandaged one further down, eyes lighting up in delight when he saw the angel follow his unspoken request and wrap a hand around himself.

‘Angel. Remember what you told me last time?’

Aziraphale looked at him with a confused expression, still worrying his lip.

‘You said that you want to hear me. “Commit my sweet sounds to memory” I think was the exact expression used,’ he teased and curled his fingers some more. ‘Well… needless to say, I’d very much like to hear you too. So stop bothering that pretty lip of yours. I can do that for you, if you want,’ he smiled and leaned over to kiss him and Aziraphale welcomed him gladly despite the rather awkward and uncomfortable position. ‘Can you do that for me, love?’ he whispered against Aziraphale’s lips and received a whimper and a shaky nod in return.

‘Good.’

Crowley pushed himself up on his injured hand and redoubled his efforts.

He had always pondered if the sounds that Aziraphale made while eating a particularly delightful crepe or a creamy éclair could be compared with the sounds that he made during sex and had made it his life mission to find out. Of course, they had fucked before, but the angel had been completely focused on him and giving him pleasure so Crowley imagined he had held back quite a bit. For all his frankly divine skills in the sack and hedonistic streak, he imagined that Aziraphale was far more used to giving pleasure to others rather than receiving it for himself. The way he had treated Crowley all those months ago was proof enough. Not to mention his almost shy attitude just moments ago, not knowing what to do if that didn’t involve pleasing his partner in any way.  _ Well…they couldn’t have that now, could they?  _ He needed him to utterly let go. He wanted this evening and many other evenings to come to be all about pleasing him until everything other than Crowley’s name would be forgotten to the wonderous man before him. He wanted him utterly ravished and debauched, begging prettily just for him.

_ That could be easily achieved _ , he told himself as he added another finger.

Aziraphale’s reaction was instantaneous, nearly jumping off the couch.

Crowley knew what he was doing well enough. He had managed to graze that sensitive spot a couple of times only a minute ago, completely by accident at first but now he was doing it with a new sense of purpose.

Aziraphale had completely stilled the hand that he was using on himself and the other one managed to find its way from the pillow to Crowley’s curls grabbing at them for purchase almost involuntarily. Not that Crowley didn’t appreciate the light tug.

‘Crowley please…’

‘Not yet, angel. If we’re doing this we’re doing this properly,’ he replied despite every cell in his body screaming at him to get on with it already. Never to mention the fact that he had completely neglected his own state of arousal focusing on the man before him and he felt like he would soon die and ascend to heaven if he didn’t address that. But he had said he was going to be gentle and gentle he would be, even if he died in the process. Especially after the angel had confessed to him that it had been a while. They couldn’t do this for the first time if Aziraphale wasn’t truly and wholly prepared. So he tried another finger only for the angel to whine in annoyance.

‘Crowley, please, now…’

‘You really are a greedy little bastard, aren’t you.’

‘Mmm, yes. That. Please, Crowley. I need you now!’

The last line was delivered just as Aziraphale managed to grab the waistband of his boxers and pull them down.

‘Alright, alright, angel. If you’re quite sure…?’

Aziraphale’s only response was to pull at his boxers some more.

Crowley shimmied out of them in probably the least sexy move he had ever managed in his life but the angel wasn’t looking at him, he was staring at the ceiling, his breath ragged and his eyes wide.

‘I need your help with…’ Crowley trailed off and nodded his head at the discarded bottle of lube.

Aziraphale got up on his elbows, eyes scanning for the bottle and  _ wasn’t he just sublime, sitting there like a renaissance painting had just landed on the couch in the middle of his living room? _

He looked vaguely stunned by everything that was happening but he did manage to grasp the bottle and pour a fair amount of it in Crowley’s palm.

‘Angel, are you completely sure?’ Crowley asked once again. This was something that he could never forgive himself for if he did not get right.

‘Oh, for f – heaven’s sake, just get on with it!’

That seemed to both do the trick and make that tiny bit of Crowley that liked to prod and to tease poke its head up a little bit.

‘Ever so proper, angel. Let’s see what we can do about that.’

He bent over so he could kiss Aziraphale’s neck and gently nibble on his earlobe as he pushed himself forward far far slower than Aziraphale had any patience for.

He had thought about kissing him square on the lips but decided that hearing all of those angelic sounds that Crowley was sure he could never erase from his memory was more important at the time.

So the moment when Aziraphale grabbed his arse and guided him forward still, combined with a very breathy  _ ‘Fuuuuck’ _ , was the minute Crowley completely lost it.

A small part of his brain provided him with the cheeky  _ “that sounds more like it” _ while the other part, which still held the majority of the functioning brain cells, completely shut down so the only thing he could do was bite Aziraphale’s neck. Really  _ really  _ hard.

‘Darling, please.  _ Please _ …’

It was quite obvious what Aziraphale was asking for and he was sure there would be purple digit marks on his buttocks the next day for all his trouble judging by the way the angel dug his fingers deep into his skin.

‘Anything, angel. I told you,’ he said as he nuzzled his cheek and began to move and  _ Oh Lord Almighty _ , if he thought that he’d die and get to heaven before it was nothing compared to this.

He tried his best to wiggle his hand in between the two of them, wanting Aziraphale to enjoy this as much as he was but the angel quickly gripped his wrist and brought his hand up so that it would land on his perfect cloud-like curls.

And then instantly grabbed his arse again and guided his movements.  _ Okay, this would also need to be addressed later. _ Much…  _ much _ later, he thought as he let himself be swept by the feel of the moment and Aziraphale all around him, gasping against his temple and trying to formulate words even if it seemed like he was too far gone for any of them to stick.

Crowley thought he noticed a “darling” once and a “please” another time but he too was lost to the present plane of existence as he imagined the two of them dancing around each other and sharing essences in a corner of the universe that needed no words. It was just the two of them and he was content. Much more. Much more than that. He was so filled to the brim with pure unbridled joy that he feared he might explode.

‘Angel,’ he managed eventually. ‘I think I…’

‘Not yet, please. Not yet.’

He nodded and buried his nose in the crook of Aziraphale’s shoulder where it met the marble-like column of his neck and thought that he could do this forever if the angel asked it of him. Whatever the angel wanted.  _ Always. _

He had no idea how much time had passed, being suspended in this eternal state of bliss before Aziraphale’s hand was splayed square in between his shoulder blades, nails digging into his skin and crying out in the throes of passion, like the most sublime song to be ever chanted by a choir of angels.

He couldn’t hold back anymore and he muffled his own relief by biting into Aziraphale’s shoulder as he completely let himself go.

And then just landed on top of the angel, feeling unmoored and boneless.

_Oh wow. So this was… a thing._

99Not that visiting hours were something that happened to either Aziraphale or Bea.

100Aziraphale nestled next to Crowley on the bed, Bea on the chair next to it, feet propped up on the railing at the end of it and Dana on the windowsill where she had made quite the comfortable nook by stealing pillows from other hospital rooms after having distracted the nurses’ attention with a huge box of gingerbread biscuits.

101And lost, apparently. 

102Hand, goddamn his stupid _stupid_ past self. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let us all suspend our disbelief for a bit in what concerns flowers and times of bloom in this particular fic. Having them both mean something AND in bloom at that particular time of year is very hard.


End file.
